


Mutual Agreement

by hannrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Smut, exs with benefits, the opposite of a slow burn but still frustrating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannrose/pseuds/hannrose
Summary: Peter and MJ had a bad falling out in high school. Now, reunited at Ned Leeds' wedding, MJ finds the opportunity to get what she's been missing, all the while shielding herself from getting her feelings hurt: no strings attached sex.(basically friends with benefits, but they're exs)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lanos11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanos11/gifts).



**PETER**

 

Peter Parker was rethinking his life decisions. 

 

He was at Ned Leeds’ rehearsal dinner, for his  _ wedding _ at the very young age of twenty-two, and Peter really wanted to throw up. In the six months of Betty and Ned’s engagement, it had never occurred to Peter that they were too young. But, they were. They were fresh out of college and jobless and weren’t even going on a honeymoon because they could hardly afford their apartment, but it was too late for Peter to persuade Ned to call it off. The wedding was tomorrow.

 

Ned seemed so confident. He was watching guests trickle in the room with his fiancee by his side, holding her hand and whispering in her ear every so often. So, Peter was having cold feet  _ for _ Ned. All of the anxiety that was supposed to be on the bride and groom were given to Peter, the best man, and, you know what? He was happy to have that burden. As long as he got to do something for them.

 

Peter was sitting at their table, his heart pounding out of his chest. His tie was too tight and his eyes were peeled on the door. The thought of-- No. He wasn’t going to think about her. The  _ only _ reason Peter was nervous was because Ned and Betty weren’t. He hadn’t had a girlfriend in years, and he couldn’t fathom being that sure about anyone.

 

Nope, that wasn’t true; Peter really needed to stop lying to himself. There was a time when Peter could have, and honestly  _ did _ , confess his feelings to the whole world. He might’ve even mentioned, “She feels like my soulmate,” to Ned once. That, like all things in Peter’s life, turned to shit, though. And, as all things are, it was his fault.

 

Now he was thinking about her. The last time they saw each other was graduation, but the last time they were  _ together _ was a few months before. She’d broken up with him because Peter always  _ lied _ , and Peter wasn’t ready to tell her where he disappeared to all those hours. And, God, it was so bad. She cried for hours. She had begged for hours. She told him to never talk to her again, because she couldn’t stand to look at the man who broke her heart. So, when Peter saw her in the halls, he turned the other direction.

 

He wondered if she would look the same. He wondered if she’d look at him with the hate that lingered behind her eyes all those years ago.

 

Peter was almost convinced that she was going to miss it. The majority of the attendees had were already mingling, so he was being kicked out of his lonely chair to join them. And she was never late for an event. At least, the version of her in high school wasn’t.

 

When Ned announced his engagement, Peter spent weeks chastising himself. If he had just told her that he was Spider-Man, instead of letting her convince herself that he was  _ cheating _ , and letting her  _ believe it _ , they would’ve been the ones getting married. (Maybe. She never talked about marriage.)

 

He’d been thinking about her non-stop. All the guilt he had been feeling since senior year was so overwhelming, and the longer she took to arrive, the more nauseous Peter got. He wished she could just get it over with already.

 

“You okay, bud?” Ned asked. “I don’t think anyone else is coming; you can stop guarding the door.”

 

“I--” Peter defensively shouted. “I am not  _ guarding _ the door! I’m-- I’m just--”

 

“Betty wants me to tell you that you’re creeping out her parents. And, she also wanted me to say, that MJ has been here for half an hour.” Ned pointed over his shoulder. “You know, now that I’m getting married, I won’t have time for your high school drama.”

 

And behind Ned’s shoulder was Betty talking to one Michelle Jones, right in Peter’s eye line. She was wearing a yellow summer dress, which was so her, considering it was early December. Her hair was so much longer than it was when they graduated; it went past her shoulders and down to her rib cage. Betty said something that made Michelle laugh, and she still laughed with her whole body, a small thing that made Peter turn to absolute mush.

 

Michelle looked  _ good _ . 

 

Suddenly, Peter wanted to be anywhere but there. “Do you think it’s too early for me to dip out?” he panicked.

 

“Way too early. You have to give a speech in an hour!” Ned made eye contact with Betty and started waving them over. “If you get it over now, then you won’t make a fool of yourself  _ or _ me for picking you and not Betty’s brother. And she’d really like to see you two be friendly.”

 

“Whatever the bride wants, right?” Peter sarcastically agreed, and took a long, long sip of his beer.

 

“Peter! No getting drunk,” Betty reprimanded once they were closer. “Not until you give the speech.” 

 

Michelle was wearing makeup, he had noticed. She never used to wear makeup. Nevertheless, she was gorgeous, knocking him off his feet. She wasn’t even looking at him like he thought she would.

  
“Hey, Parker,” she politely grinned. Her face scrunched, “You look wasted already.”

 

_ Parker _ . Nobody called him that. It was only Michelle, who would use it to tease him in an endearing way. He knew he was in trouble when she said Peter. ‘ _ Peter, tell me the truth. Please, I just wanna know the truth _ ,’ she had once sobbed, her tears falling at full force. Peter. Not Parker.

 

“I’ve never been drunk, and you know it, MJ.” He didn’t know if he was still allowed to say that. But, he was trying something out. Make her think that he wasn’t stressing out completely, like underneath his suit jacket, his white shirt wasn’t totally stained with sweat.

 

Peter wanted to pull the classic ‘I’m doing better than you are.’ Even if his body and his mind was screaming at him to run the other way.

 

Michelle bit her lip, sadness lingering behind her eyes. “Wow,” she perked up, “I thought you were going to be a loser and call be Michelle.”

 

Betty and Ned looked at each other with wide eyes. And Peter could’ve sworn he saw Betty mouth, ‘ _ It’s on! _ ’ But maybe she was just yawning. She reached her hand out and said, “Babe, my grandparents have something they want to tell you.”

 

“Oh, well, then I’ve gotta go. I’ll be seeing you guys around, yeah?” Ned interlaced his fingers with Betty’s, and they practically sprinted away.

 

Peter couldn’t stop looking at Michelle. He had been in love with her since the eighth grade--when at lunch, she hit Flash Thompson in the face for shoving Peter into the lockers every day. She was the only person who had ever stood up for him. They didn’t start dating until a year later when Betty and Ned needed cover-ups for their weekly date, since Ned was grounded and could only hang out with Peter. Something that night clicked with them. Peter found himself holding Michelle’s hand by the end of it.

 

And, after that, everything clicked with them. She was the first to compliment him on his growing body post-Spider bite, and the only one to notice. They lost their virginities to each other after homecoming of their sophomore year--a magical night, and sex that was good for Peter, but not so much Michelle. They would learn, though, that when Michelle was on top, it was better for both of them. They hung out every day; up until, Peter started to get  _ really _ invested in Spider-Man.

 

“You still calling me Parker? That radiates  _ loser _ .”

 

It started slowly. His excuses were decent, at first, but they started to get more and more coated with bullshit. Peter really admired her for holding her tongue for two years. Especially when he had random bruises and scars he couldn’t explain; the thing that eventually sent her over the edge was scratch marks on his back, scratch marks that weren’t from her.  _ But _ , they were from the Black Cat, someone who used to rob banks and destroy Peter’s suit on a daily bases. He couldn’t just tell Michelle that, though. 

 

“Sorry, after four years I’m a little rusty. I’ll call you by Flash’s nickname instead, Penis.”

 

Why didn’t he ever tell her? God, so many reasons. Michelle, with her past of flaky people and dangerous figures, shouldn’t have had a boyfriend who would just  _ die _ on her. Peter didn’t want her to stress about that. And, technically, he never  _ told _ anyone. Ned and May found out on their own. So, Peter didn’t know how to tell her.

 

“Anyways,” she continued. “I heard the good news. You are officially a trust fund baby. How does it feel?”

 

No. The truth was that Michelle was the most important person in his life. He didn’t want to lose her, and he knew she would try to help on missions, and it would only get her killed. Peter would rather have her hate him than to see her dead.

 

“Oh, you saw that?” Peter asked. Tony Stark had recently named him as his heir of Stark Industries.

 

“I couldn’t get away from it. Seeing your face everywhere was legit hell.” She chuckled into her beer before taking another sip.

 

“Hey, you are looking at the next youngest billionaire of our generation. And what are you up to, MJ?” He didn’t mean it to sound condescending, but Michelle jerked back like she was shocked.

 

“Well, I literally just graduated a few months ago, and I got an internship at the Times. Nepotism really does run America, doesn’t it?” She gave him a shit eating grin. 

 

They were joking, they were showing off-- Peter was just overreacting. His faux sense of confidence had yet to wear off, and he was very, very happy about that. “MJ, about what happened--”

 

Her grin fell. “It’s fine. It was so long ago, I can hardly even remember what happened. You’re not that memorable,” she winked. 

 

“Oh, come on, MJ. You’ve gotta remember all those nights when I would--”

 

“Can it, Parker. I’ve been with a lot of guys, they’ve all been melted into one ultra, terrible, man child.” 

 

Michelle took a step closer to him. If they were playing a game, and it was to get the other to break first, she was totally winning. Was she flirting? Peter could’ve sworn she was flirting.

 

“God, sorry. I must’ve confused you with a different girl. Liz, I think. Or was it Gwen? I can’t remember.” Peter gave her a similar, shit eating grin, as he watched his comment phase her. Michelle was shocked, for a split second.

 

“So, we’re both sluts.” She placed one hand on his shoulder, “You know what weddings inspires sluts to do?”

 

And if they were playing a game, Peter was so losing. He almost choked on his spit, his eyes bugging out of their sockets, and his breath caught in his throat. Then, Michelle burst into laughter. “C’mon,” she continued, “Let’s go get drunk.”

 

**MICHELLE**

 

She had walked into that dinner with one objective: to prove to herself that Peter Parker no longer had an effect over her.

 

It had been over four years since  _ she _ broke up with him, for reasons she was still adamant towards, but he still found a way to worm inside of her head. He was the reason Michelle hadn’t had a long term boyfriend. He was the reason for her long, long string of one night stands. He was the reason she lost her birth control pills in some guy’s apartment, and had to go back the next day, and  _ god _ that guy was so pissed.

 

Well-- Peter wasn’t the reason for that thing specifically. But, the other things, those were his fault. He’d left this big, gaping hole in her heart that Michelle couldn’t find a way to fill, and ignored it by getting wasted and jumping on any guy who would let her. And she always  _ compared _ the guys to Peter. No one could touch her the way Peter did, no one could look at her the same way, or fuck her the same way. Peter Parker was not to be replicated, it seemed.

 

And, the thing Michelle wouldn’t admit, was that Peter didn’t  _ fuck _ . As cheesy as it sounded, Peter  _ made love _ to her. He treated her gently, like she was his whole world, and just a single graze of their thighs had set her nerves on fire. She missed the days when he’d ask her if she was comfortable, if she was sure she wanted to be doing this, even if they had done it a million times. Michelle didn’t get that treatment anymore.

 

That’s not to say that she isn’t overwhelmed with pain when she thinks of him, though. She was starting to accept the fact that it’d never go away.

 

And, when she got the invitation for Ned’s wedding, it got worse. Michelle was reminded of all the hours she had spent in high school, imagining her life with Peter after graduation. They were going to be together for forever. At least, that’s what the promise ring he’d bought her (at the Dollar Store) symbolized. Michelle still had that stupid, cheap ring, and some nights when she was really distraught, she’d put it on.

 

Then she realized that Peter didn’t deserve to have the power to ruin her  _ again _ . So, she put her makeup on that evening with care, trying to be a total knockout so it’d make the awkward Parker quality jump out of him.

 

It wasn’t going her way. Not at all. Peter was  _ confident _ , and cocky, while still maintaining an overall sweetness. Michelle wanted to slap the smug smile off his face as he downed, yet another, shot. “That’s your seventh one, Parker,” she commented, “Are you sure you’ll be able to give your speech?”

 

“Fast metabolism,” he grinned. “As I can remember, you are a lightweight. Like that time I had to sneak you into your apartment while you were drunk off of wine coolers, singing the Pina Colada song.”

 

Michelle raised her eyebrows at him and took her own shot. It was only her second one, but, still. “You’ve gotta stop comparing me to high school me. You don’t see me doing that, do you?”

 

“Oh, as if I’ve changed that much,” Peter challenged, rolling his eyes.

 

“High school Peter was awkward, and lame, and-- Sorry, I’m realizing you haven’t changed at all. My bad.” She was failing to contain her smile. 

 

“High school MJ was  _ weird _ . I couldn’t say it at the time, because, y’know, but you were just strange.”

 

She scoffed at him, turning in her seat to stare him down. “ _ Really _ , Parker? I’m sure you didn’t feel that way when I offered to have sex with you on your kitchen table.”

 

The family sitting across from them silently judged the two. Michelle didn’t mind; they could think she was a freak, if they wanted to. She was just so invested in trying to outwit Peter that nothing else mattered. If she could win their pissing match, then she  _ won _ . He’d see that she was better off without him.

 

“No, yeah, that was strange. That was where I ate.”

 

“And still, I had trouble walking the next day.” That was too far. Way too far. Michelle wanted to hit the panic button and run, because Peter was gasping, and she could see the gears in his dirty mind turning.

 

“I bet I could still do that today,” Peter smirked. He leaned over, resting his elbow on the table and holding his cheek in that hand. With the other, it found its way onto Michelle’s knee.

 

Okay, so, he was trying to get her to cave, too. It wasn’t going to work.

 

“That was a once in a lifetime thing,” she promised. “You got lucky that night.”

 

“MJ, you know, if  _ that  _ was your once in a lifetime experience-- I’m so sorry you haven’t been properly laid since we broke up.”  _ Shit _ . Michelle didn’t know how to respond to that. How was this the thing that would break her?

 

“You don’t know me anymore.” That was such a lame comeback, but the only one she had left.

 

Peter gawked at her, like that was a challenge. The hand on her knee traveled up. “I still think I know how to make you moan, MJ.” Higher and higher the hand went, disrupting the fabric of her dress underneath the table.

 

“I remember faking it a few times,” she managed to say. What was she  _ doing _ ? What was she letting him do? And why was she letting herself crave more?

 

Michelle was breaking. This was the same person who, in high school, cheated on her. And although over the years, she became less and less sure of her assumption, because even Ned Leeds, the worst liar in history, confirmed that Peter didn’t do anything like that-- Michelle would never forget how she felt when he said, ‘ _ And what if I did? _ ’

 

An idea popped into her head. One that, if Peter was still the same person, would’ve made him crumble in an instant. 

 

She grabbed his wrist from underneath her dress. “Follow me,” she prompted, as if he had any choice, because she was already dragging him through the event hall. They passed waiters that were bringing out food.

 

“MJ-- I need to be out there for the toasts,” Peter argued. He knew what she was about to do.

 

And Michelle was so happy to have him under her heels.

 

She found the door to the bathroom--which was not much bigger than a broom closet--and shoved the two of them inside of it. “You wanna do this, Parker?” Michelle incised him. She had him against the door, while hastily unbuckling his belt for him.

 

“I-- MJ, seriously, I--”

 

“Not so confident now, huh? So you don’t think you could make me  _ moan _ anymore? Or you don’t have the guts to fuck my brains out?” 

 

Michelle was always too competitive for her own good. And while she was hoping he’d say no, her mind pleading for him to back off, Peter was working up the courage to kiss her.

 

It took him a few seconds to get there. They explored the other’s eyes in the poorly lit and cramped bathroom, but she wasn’t able to read his expression. He reached for the door handle, and quickly locked them in.

 

“Let’s do this,” he accepted. 

 

“Wh--” Michelle started, but was swiftly cut off by Peter’s sudden lips on her’s.

 

It was like riding a bike. They got back into old habits--Michelle biting his bottom lips, knowing it’d make him quiver, and Peter pulling gingerly at her hair--but it also felt so different. They were hungry for each other, ravaging every square inch of their bodies. It wasn’t gentle. Nothing about it was delicate. And it  _ certainly _ couldn’t be described as making love.

 

No, Peter was fucking her. No way around it. Still, Michelle had never experienced anything as euphoric.

 

She tore his belt off first and went south, pulling his pants down with her and subsequently his boxers. Michelle taunted him, “Really? Same size?”

 

“Shut up,” Peter demanded, out of breath. He pulled her back up to his lips, his tongue having no mercy against her’s, and he flipped them so Michelle was the one with her back against the door. 

 

He took her dress off easily. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath it, and when Peter saw that, he kissed her breasts and her nipples while he struggled to get her underwear off. Michelle threw her head back, hitting it on the hard wood, just as he ripped her favorite pair of panties in half.

 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Peter said against her chest.

 

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t need them.”

 

“That’s-- that’s hot.” Peter kissed her lips again, then down her neck, her core, until he was teasing her front with his tongue.

 

Her ex-boyfriend was going down on her. Peter was always too  _ scared _ to do it in high school, something Michelle never got an explanation for, so to her shock, he was really good at it. She tangled her fingers in his hair and bit her lip. Then, she realized, he learned this from  _ someone _ . Those two girls he mentioned-- he learned it from Gwen or Liz. Or both. 

 

And Michelle was reminded what she was doing. Having sex with the guy who shattered her into a million pieces, and yeah, she missed it. She was urgent to have him inside of her,  _ but _ \--

 

But, there was no but. She wanted there to a  _ but _ so bad, a reason to put her dress back on and leave him high and dry, and yet, all Michelle could think was how long would he take down there.

 

“Hey,” she said, snapping him out of his concentration. “This is a quickie in a bathroom, okay? Key word:  _ quick _ .”

 

“Right, right.” He stood back up, turned Michelle around, and waited until she leaned against the sink. “Ready?”

 

“Just do me, Parker,” she slurred.

 

All these years, Michelle thought her problem was that nobody was treating her with  _ love _ , and that they were all fucking her just to fuck her. But, in the bathroom of Ned and Betty’s rehearsal dinner, she discovered the truth. The real problem was that these guys just weren’t  _ Peter _ . 

 

She hated that. She hated that so much. Michelle didn’t want to face herself, knowing that the only person she’d ever feel whole with was Peter fucking Parker.

 

And, as Peter lost himself in his movements, picking up the speed, she let out a loud moan. It felt good; it felt right, even if she wanted to deny it. It started happening again, and again, Peter hitting the right spot over and over. 

 

Michelle was eventually pulled out of her negative thoughts. The only thing on her mind was Peter’s hands gripping her thighs, and how dominate he was now.

 

His thrusts slowed. With a simple, hard, connection of their bodies, Michelle felt her self tipping over the edge. When he did it again, her toes curled, and she grabbed Peter’s hands, their fingers somewhat interlacing, and she gasped in pleasure.

 

Peter finished a few minutes later. He never used to last that long in high school.

 

“I told you I could make you moan,” he mocked, locking their lips again.

 

“Shut your mouth.” She kissed back, passionately, just hungry for a little more.

 

Then, there was a knock on the bathroom door. A man spoke, “Is the best man in there? He’s needed.”

 

Peter’s face changed to a deep shade of red. “U-uh, yes, he is. I-- I’m just-- I’m kinda stuck. In my zipper. Just give me a few minutes, okay?” He turned to Michelle, who was silently giggling. He mouthed, “Shut  _ your _ mouth.”

 

“Uh, okay. Good luck?” the man responded. They heard his footsteps walk away.

 

“I told you you were still awkward,” Michelle said against his lips.

 

When they were all dressed again, and she placed her destroyed panties in the garbage, she felt that sinking feeling inside of her again. This was fun. Too much fun. And Michelle might never get the chance to talk to Peter again, not until another one of their classmates got married.

 

It’s not as if she wanted to  _ date _ him again. She missed him, yeah, but that wasn’t happening. Michelle just… she just wanted sex.

 

She let herself believe she only wanted sex.

 

“We should do this again,” she proposed.

 

Peter stared at her, shocked. But, he croaked out, “Yes. Yes, we should.”


	2. Chapter 2

Peter’s best man speech when off without a hitch. Yes, he was out of breath, and a little sweaty, and for the person who knocked on the bathroom door, he had to act like his dick was just stuck in his zipper-- but other than that, Peter had never spoken more eloquently in his life.

 

Ned had cried. He cried a couple times, actually, but the tears flowed the hardest when Peter said, “And, Ned, you out of everyone I know deserves a lifetime of happiness the most. All those nights you comforted me when the bad things happened-- you deserve someone who will be there unconditionally.” And Peter hadn’t even thought of it as profound but, apparently, it was.

 

His plan was to speak about love, and about how Ned found his person before Peter could find his own (and how eternally grateful he was that it was Betty,) but with Michelle’s eyes peering at him it felt… wrong. Before the sex, Peter would’ve recited it with no complaints, but  _ after _ was a different story. She looked at him with hunger and lust and Peter was reminded that if he said the words, “I was in love, once,” Michelle would’ve cried. Or, have been so pissed at him for talking about them that she would’ve ignored him again.

 

Thankfully, Peter had the common sense to back off from that. And, as desserts were being passed around, Michelle brought him out to the hallway. “Now? Again?” he gasped when she snatched his wrist.

 

“Not  _ now _ , but… I meant it. I want to do this again, Parker.” She had him pinned against the wall, her eyes scoured him as her breath found its way beneath Peter’s collar. It made his knees tremble when Michelle’s fingers curled around his hair. “Did you hear me?” her tongue rolled. “I want to have sex with you again.”

 

“I’d really like that,” Peter croaked. His hand rested on her lower back, and he was reminded of the fact that Michelle was completely bare underneath her sundress. 

 

“Parker,” she whispered, continuing to play with his brown locks. “I want to clarify something. I think we should do this often, but only sex. Nothing more.”

 

“Why do you say it like that?” 

 

Michelle furrowed her eyebrows, “Like what?”

 

“Like you’re trying to teach a toddler the difference between right and wrong.”

 

“Because I don’t think you can handle that. Casual sex.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she placed her finger over his lips and shushed him. “Parker, you aren’t a casual guy. You told me you were in love with me two weeks into our relationship. And, that’s fine! It’s just, if we’re going to do this, you need to learn how. That means no dates, no sleep overs, nothing that resembles a relationship. All we will do is call when we’re horny and lonely, and if the other is horny and lonely, we meet up.”

 

“Stop saying horny,” Peter murmured. The way it rolled off her tongue was distracting him. “And I can do casual sex, MJ. I’ve had hookups before.”

 

She scoffed, “Oh, you have, have you? How many?”

 

“A  _ few _ .” It was only one, actually, and if he could go back in time and un-do it, he would. It was the worst sexual experience of Peter’s entire life. But, Michelle didn’t need to know that. 

 

She could tell that he was lying, even so, she ignored his attempts at showing off and accepted it. “Congrats, then. But I bet you always felt guilty about it. We are not doing guilt, or any of those other pesky feelings. Sex with no strings attached. Is that something you can do?”

 

“I can do that, MJ. Do you want proof?” Peter shouldn’t have been insulted by what Michelle had said, and yet he was. He desperately wanted to prove her song. 

 

“Proof, no proof, whatever,” she said with a smug smile. “Just call me when you’re bored, as long as you can handle it.”

 

“I can.”

 

She lightly kissed him. “We should probably go back inside and mingle with other people.”

 

Michelle pushed herself away using his chest, looking him over and winking one last time before she turned her back. She didn’t wait for him to move before going back into the banquet hall.

 

Peter still had his back against the wall. Her breath, her fingers, the way only  _ he _ knew that under her sundress, she was naked-- he needed to cool down. He took deep breaths, and itched for another conversation with her.

 

No. Peter wasn’t going to go talk to her; that’s exactly what she was expecting. Michelle didn’t believe that he could do casual, so he was going to prove her wrong. He could be the  _ king _ of casual.

 

When he walked back into the rehearsal dinner, he spotted Michelle already in a conversation with someone they knew from high school. And, on the other side of the room, was the wedding party table, only stationed by a very lonely maid of honor. Peter gave Michelle a smug smile before making his way over to the bridesmaid.

 

He wasn’t going over there to  _ pick up _ Cindy, the maid of honor. He was just going to talk to her; maybe, it’d prove something to Michelle along the way.

 

“Hey, Cindy,” he greeted. He pulled a chair out and sat down next to her.

 

“Peter, you’ve been gone for a while. Where’ve you been?” Her speech was slurred, like she’d been drinking.

 

“Uh, smoking cigarettes,” Peter laughed. “Got a whole pack hidden at every table.”

 

Cindy rolled her eyes. “You’re too… white picket fence for that. And that’s a good thing, Peter. No one likes a smoker.” She gave him a drunken thumbs up. With a sad expression, she said, “Can you believe they’re getting  _ married _ ? It makes me think I’m never gonna find anyone. Ever.”

 

Whenever he talked to Cindy, which was only because of the wedding, she always stuck to this one point. She was twenty-two, and had never had a boyfriend in her whole life. Peter could tell you all her almost relationships from memory, because that’s all she talked about. Literally.

 

“That’s not true, Cindy,” he said. “I’m sure the guy is right around the corner.”

 

“You don’t have anyone, though. Doesn’t that make you sad? Don’t weddings suck?”

 

When Cindy said that, Peter, stupidly, glanced up, his eyes landing on Michelle. He didn’t have her. And he wouldn’t. But, Michelle was already looking his way when he lifted his head. 

 

She darted her eyes in a different direction, and Peter sighed. “Cindy, we should get you home.”

 

“I’m fine!” Cindy argued. Peter lifted her to her feet, and she already started stumbling. “Okay, maybe I’m not. It’s just weddings--”

 

“Make you sad, I know. Put your arm around me, okay? And uh…” His eyes wandered back to Michelle for a few seconds. “Act sober while we’re walking out of here. I’m sure Ned and Betty don’t want a scene.”

 

“I can do that,” she promised. Her steps were small and spaced out, as if she’d vomit if she moved any faster.

 

They passed Michelle, and Peter could feel her watching them. They passed Ned and Betty, who gave Peter money for Cindy’s half of the cab ride. And, successfully, without Cindy throwing up anywhere or passing out, Peter got her home. She was out like a light, still in her expensive dress and make up, as soon as her head hit the pillow.

 

All Peter could think about was the look on Michelle’s face when she saw them leaving together. It was filed with jealousy.

 

**MICHELLE**

 

She thought about Peter and Weepy the Bridesmaid the whole night.

 

Michelle didn’t know her name, so she assigned her a name like dwarves in  _ Snow White _ were named. She cried an awful lot through her speech that night, and it just clicked in her brain. Dopey, Happy, Grumpy, and Weepy. 

 

It wasn’t any of Michelle’s business what he did, was it? Explicitly, she said what they were doing together was emotionless, and she’d basically  _ challenged _ him to do this. Still, it didn’t mean she expected Peter to do it. Peter was still the guy who choked on his own saliva the first time he touched her breasts, in her mind. He wasn’t smooth, or charismatic. Michelle could still get him to be flustered beyond belief.

 

He had changed. He was wildly and astronomically different. And that scared her, but also at the same time, Michelle was excited. Excited because she could separate this version of Peter from the one who broke her heart, meaning  _ she _ could do what she was making him promise to.

 

No feelings, just sex. No guilt, just sex. And if he wanted to do that with other people, then more power to him. 

 

But… with  _ Weepy _ ? The girl who had gotten snot on her dress? The girl who talked about herself more than she did Ned and Betty? Peter had low standards, obviously. 

 

He was just doing this to prove a point to her; Michell could tell. The way he proudly walked past her, with that stupid smug and attractive look on his face, he was trying to prove how  _ casual _ he could be. Well, jokes on him-- Michelle hardly cared.

 

And the next time she saw Peter, she wouldn’t mention it.

 

To her success, Michelle didn’t. But, only because he was standing up at the altar by Ned’s side, and there would’ve been no possible way to mention it.  And no, Michelle was not thinking about Weepy’s obvious glances towards Peter. She was focusing on Ned and Betty. The whole reason she was there.

 

Betty wore an extravagant ballroom gown, and with her blonde curls falling over her shoulders, she looked like she was ready to be crowned as queen. And Ned, of course, cried at her beauty. As far as wedding ceremonies go, theirs was quite quick. They exchanged vows, Ned’s making everyone in the room laugh, and Betty’s making everyone tear up. “And I don’t even care that you made your vows your improve routine,” Betty had joked.

 

Every so often, Michelle’s eyes would drift over to Peter. He was wearing a grey checkered suit, and was smiling contently the whole time, looking at Ned and Betty with nothing but admiration. And for some reason, it made Michelle feel all… warm inside. Peter was a terribly kind person; if Michelle was standing there for close to an hour, she would’ve let her knees buckle. Some of the bridesmaids were hiding yawns, but not Peter.

 

At the reception, Michelle talked to Flash Thompson while the whole room waited for the wedding party to arrive. He kept boasting about his new job at his dad’s company, and how he outranked some senior employees. “Isn’t that nepotism, Flash?” Michelle asked.

 

“Well--” 

 

The speakers that were blaring early 2000s pop music stopped suddenly. The two ex-classmates averted their attention to the DJ stand, that was now occupied by Peter, who was holding a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen and everyone else,” he said, smiling wildly and out of breath, “I am the best man, Peter Parker, as many of you know. And it is my great pleasure to introduce you, for the first time ever, to Mr. and Mrs. Leeds!” Peter threw an arm out dramatically towards the door, and in walked in Ned and Betty. “If everyone would please crowd around the dance floor so we can watch Ned trip on his feet, that’d be great.”

 

“Hey!” Ned yelled.

 

Michelle, closest to the dance floor, got there first. Everyone formed rings of half-circle around it as Ned and Betty got ready for their first dance. Betty was rubbing his shoulders supportingly, hiding a grin as she probably said, “You can do this, babe. I believe in you.”

 

Ned nodded, and placed his hands on Betty’s waist. The song ‘ _ Still the One _ ’ by Shania Twain played, and the wedding guests watched the newly wed couple shuffle across the dance floor. For his stress, Ned wasn’t that bad, but throughout it all, you could see Betty whispering supportive comments to him.

 

“They’re good together, aren’t they?” a familiar voice whispered. She looked over, and Peter was standing next to her.

 

“Hey, Mr. DJ,” Michelle teased. “Yeah, they really are. Makes you wonder if-- Nevermind.”

 

And Peter didn’t press her for more.

 

About halfway through the song, Peter leaned over and said, “Hey, so, Ned hates dancing and he didn’t want to be the only two dancing for the whole four minutes, so… would you like to dance?”

 

Michelle scoffed. “Sure, Parker. I’ll dance with you.”

 

Peter took Michelle’s hand and lead her a few steps inwards. He kept their hands latched, and placed his other one on her lower back so that he was leading. Michelle’s other hand rested on his shoulder. And just like that, they were dancing. 

 

The bridesmaids and their dates joined in, too. She hardly noticed.

 

In her heels, Michelle was a few inches taller than Peter, and he didn’t care. He looked up at her and said, “MJ, you look beautiful tonight.”

 

It made her feel flustered. Like she was teleported back to junior prom, when-- when  _ this very song _ had played, and Peter slow danced with her and gave her non-stop compliments and told her he was in love with her. 

 

“Is that your best way to get me into bed?” Michelle smirked.

 

Peter rolled his eyes, playing along with her game. “Yes, MJ. How’d you know?”

 

“It’s pretty obvious,” she shrugged, her hand now curling around his neck. “I mean, you were eyeing me the whole ceremony.”

 

“Oh, was I?”

 

“Yeah, you were. It was surprising, too, considering I wasn’t who you went home with…” Michelle stared at Weepy, who was dancing with a man Michelle had never met.

 

Peter followed her gaze. “I didn’t go home with her,” he explained. “She was drunk. I just made sure she got home okay.”

 

“Oh,” Michelle let out, stunned. She shoved down a smile, because he  _ didn’t go home with her _ . Not that she cared, or anything. “Well, how noble of you.”

 

“Thank you, I know. But-- let’s say I did. What would you think?” Peter froze their movements, and they looked each other in the eye.

 

Michelle took a moment. “I’d say congratulations, maybe casual sex  _ is _ your thing.”

 

He gasped, opening his mouth to say something, but the song ended. It was replaced by the Cupid Shuffle, and the DJ had invited everyone to join the dance floor. The two were surrounded by an onslaught of people, and they quickly let the other go.

 

Peter still had that look on his face. The ‘ _ I’m Peter B. Parker, I can do anything I can set my mind to _ .’

 

And, every time they exchanged glances that night, the look persisted. While Ned and Betty cut the cake, when Peter was giving his final best man speech and gazed at her for a while. When he walked up to her at the end of the reception, sitting down at her table, and invited her to go home with him. His hand on her knee. The look never dying.

 

She was beyond happy that Peter was almost as stubborn as she was. It ignited something passionate within him. As they undressed in his bedroom, Michelle had reminded him of their rules. Peter sweeped her off of her feet, his hands gripping her thighs as their noses pressed together, and he said against her lips, “MJ, shut the hell up.”

 

The way he said it made Michelle all the more ready for what they were about to do.

 

The sex was more mind blowing than it was the night before. If that was possible. And when they were done, Michelle took only a few minutes before she decided she had to leave. “Where are you going?” Peter protested, grabbing her wrist.

 

“No sleepovers,” she reminded him. They engaged in a deep kiss before Michelle pushed herself away from him. “I’ll text you, okay?”

 

She pulled her dress back on and gave Peter a final stare. His abs were glistening, and he was looking back at her, The Look gone, being replaced by disappointment. And Michelle smiled to herself; in some way, she had won. He couldn’t really handle it.

 

Knowing that, she didn’t exactly care. Because as she left Peter’s apartment, she was already thinking of a day that they could get together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY after this part the fun REALLY starts! thanks for reading <3 and talk to me on twitter @parkerbjones !! hope yall enjoyed


	3. Chapter 3

**MICHELLE**

 

She would find herself craving Peter’s touch far, far too often. 

 

And a lot of the time, Michelle wouldn’t give into her urges. Sometimes she felt ashamed of them— since she was doing the very thing she promised herself she’d never do again. But, most of the time, she never acted on them because she physically couldn’t. Michelle would be reminded of him at work, and she’d daydream about how his hands would work at the area she was most sensitive. And, on occasion, Peter was ‘in a bind,’ but promised he could make in around in an hour. 

 

Those nights, Michelle told him not to bother. She’d flirtatiously whisper into the phone, “I guess I’ll just have to do it myself then.” She’d follow through; imagining Peter doing this for her, his skin grazing against her’s, his lips seductively biting her shoulder, and she’d go as far as moaning his name. It worked. It worked too well. 

 

The times Peter wasn’t busy, and Michelle was incredibly horny, were memorable, to say the least. She’d go to his apartment, always, and Peter always found a way to make it different. Be it by location—in his bed, in the shower, against the window (which aroused her more than she wanted to admit)— or by the pace and intensity. There were moments he’d treat her like glass, where his fingers would trace her skin in disbelief. And then he’d do the exact opposite; Peter would pull at her hair and whisper dirty things in her ear and ram his hips into her’s with no care if she was shattered. 

 

Michelle didn’t know which one she liked better. 

 

She, personally, really enjoyed teasing him. Peter reacted different than he did in high school. In high school, he’d take it, and let her entice him until she got sick of it. Now, he’d still let her tease; but he  _ enjoyed _ it. Peter would smirk when Michelle would pull away, and tell him that, “I’m actually super tired, sorry.” And Peter would say, oh, okay, and he’d pretend to start leaving. 

 

Michelle caved. Every damn time, she caved. She’d grasp onto his wrist and would pull him back to her, their lips attaching in an instant. Still, despite her caving, she enjoyed it. She loved his facial expressions and his groans and the way he knew how to break her. 

 

And, as an excuse to keep this going for as long as possible, Michelle was making it her goal to win before they ended things. If Peter lost control first, her life would be fulfilled. 

 

She was attempting that one night, about three weeks after Ned’s wedding. Michelle had knocked on his door in nothing but thigh high boots and a trench coat, and when Peter answered the door, he was wearing so many layers of clothing you’d think it was snowing inside of his home. 

 

“Parker,” Michelle purred, pushing him backwards with with a single finger to the chest. She took a step into his apartment, closing the door behind her. Then, she opened up her jacket. 

 

“W-wow,” Peter gasped. “I— I, uh—”

 

She shushed him with a kiss. They walked backwards until Peter crashed into the couch, and he fell backwards as his knees locked. Michelle took that time to unzip her leather boots, chucking them across the room when she was finished. 

 

When she looked up, Peter had taken his sweatshirt off and was struggling to untie his sweatpants. Michelle placed herself onto his lap, roughly kissing him, making him pause his efforts. “This fast?” he mustered. 

 

“Been a long day,” she admitted. Peter was already hard against her thigh, and her hand stroked that area, above the sweatpants. 

 

“Wanna— wanna talk about it?” 

 

Michelle rolled her eyes. One hand creeped up her his shirt slowly. “Well, my roommate sucks, my boss yelled at me and—  _ No _ , Parker, I don’t want to talk. Just take off your clothes.”

 

“Right, right. Sorry.” He whipped his shirt off, then placed his lips against her’s once more. 

 

Peter was becoming better and better at their agreement. He was still under the assumption, however, that they needed to  _ talk _ . He would text her asking to come over and would try to insert little anecdotes about his day, or would ask questions that had no relevance to what they were about to do. ‘ _ Oh, so you got a roommate? What is she like? Why did you get one? Is this why I can’t go to your place? _ ’ And Michelle wouldn’t answer any of them. She spent her whole day talking; and the last person she would spill her guts to was Peter.

 

So, that night, Michelle was finally on top. She’d been so hypnotized by how dominate Peter had became that she was giving up her control on a whim, and now she had it back. Purposely, she was going slow. Her fingers trailed across his skin as she placed small, tiny kisses on his jaw. Peter whimpered as Michelle lowered herself down onto him, and she continued to do that in a sporadic, gentle manner.

 

“C’mon, MJ,” he groaned. “Y-you’re killing me here.”

 

“Good,” she said against his lips. 

 

Michelle persisted with the terribly slow pace. His nails dug into her skin and he tried moving her up and down, faster and faster, but she shook her head. She was trying to get him to flip her onto her back, and to bury himself inside her in an instant. Peter wouldn’t budge.

 

Until, that is, Michelle’s hands explored his back for the first time that night. He winced dramatically, making her freeze. “Are you okay?” she shouted. “Did I move wrong?”

 

“No, no, I’m-- I’m good. Keep going.”

 

Hesitant, Michelle grazed his back again, and he grimaced once more. “Jesus, MJ,” he groaned, pulling her body in tight so he could flip her over, doing exactly what she craved.

 

It didn’t really feel like a victory to her, though. Peter would try to hide his flinches whenever her hands ventured too far down, eventually getting sick of it and held her wrists above her head. He was hiding something, again. 

 

Not that it was any of her business. Michelle was just going to forget about it; she’d shove it in some dark space in her mind and wouldn't think about it. At least, not until they were both finished.

 

And, when they were, she rested on the couch for a few moments. Peter went to find his clothes, and when he turned his back, there were horrific looking bruises scattered all around his back. “Holy shit,” Michelle yelped, standing up to get a better look. “Jesus-- what happened?”

 

Peter stiffened. “Nothing, MJ.” He cleared his throat, pulling his shirt back on. “Shouldn’t you be getting home?”

 

“You’re kicking me out?” she scoffed. He usually asked her if she wanted to stay the night-- in the spare bedroom, of course.

 

“No! I just… you always the one who wants to leave. It’s dark outside, so of course I would rather you be here-- or just anywhere safe, but-- Isn’t your roommate expecting you?” Peter coughed. She was still completely naked, and it was distracting to him. “I’ll get you some clothes.”

 

“We hardly know each other. She needed a place to stay, I needed someone to cover rent, and for all I know she could murder me in my sleep. As long as I don’t get evicted, I’m fine.” He threw her baggy clothes from down the hallway, and miraculously, she caught them. Green plaid boxers, sweatpants, and his old Midtown Tech shirt. The one they gave the seniors the year they graduated.

 

A pit formed in her stomach as she looked at it. Nevertheless, she put it on. She would change when she got home. (Not the sweatpants, though; those were very comfortable.)

 

“That’s crazy, MJ. Maybe you should stay here tonight.”

 

“It’s not crazy! It’s practical. How did we even start talking about me? What happened to your back?”

 

Peter shrugged as he came walking back into the living room. “I fell down the stairs earlier. Clumsy. Oops.”  _ Liar _ , she could tell. “Should I meet your roommate? Make sure she’s not some psycho killer?”

 

“No thank you, Parker. You aren’t my boyfriend, or anything.” Michelle grimaced as the word  _ boyfriend _ came out of her mouth.

 

“I know that,” Peter said, sadly. “I’m just looking out for my favorite… fuck buddy?” His face scrunched.

 

Michelle bursted into laughter. “Don’t say that,” she told him.

 

“Then what am I supposed to say?”

 

“Nothing, Parker.” She walked closer to him. “I guess I’ll see you later. And if Felicia shows any signs of being a mass killer, I’ll let you know. Oh, and you don’t mind if I borrow your shoes, right? Mine were solely for the purpose of seduction.”

 

“Go ahead. And, wait-- Did you say Felicia? Felicia who?”

 

Michelle slid her feet into Peter’s sneakers. “Felicia my roommate, Felicia. You don’t listen when I talk, do you?” she teased.

 

Peter gasped, “You  _ don’t _ \--”

 

“I know I don’t. I’ll see you later, Parker. Maybe Friday? And if you want to see my apartment so desperately, that’d be a perfect time. She’s staying at her boyfriend’s place.” She gave him a moment to think, and when the moment dragged, Michelle scoffed, “Fine. Or we can just call each other when we feel like it.”

 

She reached for the door handle. Peter’s hand grasped her’s, making her movement stall. “No. Friday is good. Super good.”

 

“Good,” Michelle agreed. “See you Friday.” Then, they kissed one last time, and Michelle departed from his field of vision.

 

Sometimes when she left his place, she felt like her heart was going to burst. That was one of those times.

 

**PETER**

 

It was Friday, but Peter wasn’t in the mood to have sex.

 

Not because he no longer desired to have Michelle in his arms, in fact it was quite the opposite; he was craving her more than ever. Peter was just  _ tired _ .

 

His week had droned on. At work, he was being looked at like a fraud, and treated like a child who had been given everything. His co-workers hated Peter with a passion, all because Stark had prematurely named Peter as the next head of the company. Seriously, the way people stared at him, Peter was writing their names down in advance. He needed to remember which ones would be cut first.

 

Then, Peter would throw the list away. Because that’s not the way he should be  _ hypothetically _ running a company.

 

And his ‘fall down the stairs,’ was really him being smacked around by sonic waves. Spider-Man had been taken hit after hit lately, leading Peter to the conclusion that he was much, much better at kicking ass when he was celibate. He was just so obsessed with Michelle. Her body, and her curly hair, and the way she laughed whenever he unwrapped a condom. Always the same, always sending warmth through his body.

 

Peter shouldn’t have been thinking about that when he had guns pointed at him. He was going to get himself killed. But, really, he couldn’t control it. He’d throw a guy into a wall and he’d think about the time Michelle pushed him against one, and unbuckled his belt, and got on her knees and--

 

Yeah, so he had a problem. And that Friday night, when he was too busy thinking about Michelle, he got shot in the leg. It wasn’t anything big. It went clean through his thigh, and it would heal overnight, but Peter didn’t have that long. He needed to be at her place in an hour.

 

Oh, God. Her place. Peter was going to her place. And he knew that Michelle said that she wasn’t going to be there, however her roommate was named Felicia; a name that sent chills down his spine. It couldn’t be. There was no way. He escorted her onto a train that went all the way to Wyoming, and told her that if she came back, he’d have to arrest her.

 

How many Felicia’s were there in the world? Probably hundreds of thousands. And there was just  _ no way _ Michelle was roommates with the one Felicia who wanted him dead. 

 

Peter wrapped his leg up at his place and then left right after. He was limping, noticeably, and it was hell making his way to Michelle’s. Why didn’t he just cancel? She’d understand, and frankly, probably wouldn’t care. She had canceled twice already, it was Peter’s turn. He wasn’t going to be able to do anything that night, anyways.

 

There was that small sliver of a chance, though, that Michelle  _ would _ be upset. That he’d hear her sad, soft voice on the other end of the phone saying, “Oh, it’s no big deal,” even though it was. And there was an even tinier sliver of a chance that that would be the night that Michelle called off their little game, telling him that she was still in love. It was tiny, but it was still there.

 

Peter was failing at being casual. Maybe his actions showed otherwise, but he was rapidly realizing that he’d rather talk to her some nights than fuck her. He’d rather hold her, or take her on dates, or just relax on the same bed together instead of constantly being entangled inside of her. 

 

He had such an urge to prove her wrong, that he could do this, that Peter wasn’t even realizing that he wanted to be  _ with _ her. He wouldn’t let himself even consider it. But, deep, deep down, he knew it to be true.

 

Peter knocked on her door, and it flew open, as if she was waiting for him. Michelle was wearing red lingerie that made him quiver. “You like?” she asked, pulling him inside by his collar. “I bought it a few days ago. I was going to send you pictures, but…”

 

She didn’t finish her sentence, instead hungrily worked away at Peter’s lips. He stumbled inside, still limping, and closed the door behind him before his hands rested on her waist. They walked more, maybe to her bedroom? Before Peter could find out, Michelle stopped them. “Are you okay?” she asked.

 

“M’fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” He tried convincing her by kissing the bare, exposed parts of her chest.

 

“Parker, you really suck sometimes,” Michelle groaned. She shoved him, making him stumble more. Her face lit up as she saw his problem. “I knew it! What’s up with your leg?”

 

“I rammed my knee into the wall on accident. It’s been like this all day.” He looked into her eyes, that seemed unconvinced. “I can still do everything, though. If you still want to.”

 

“You can cancel, you know. I won’t be hurt.” Michelle was laughing. “I can’t believe you walked twenty blocks on that limp leg. Go sit down on the couch.”

 

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he suspiciously said.

 

She disappeared into her bedroom as Peter followed her orders. When Michelle walked back out, she was no longer in the red lingerie, instead wearing a sports bra and his sweatpants. “We’re watching a movie,” she commanded.

 

“I thought--”

 

“Let’s give your leg some time,” she smiled. “I mean, we don’t have to have sex every night. It’s okay to just make out, or do other favors. Sexual or not. Like a foot rub! Wanna rub my feet?”

 

“Not rea--”

 

“You’re so sweet,” Michelle cut him off. She plopped herself onto the couch and rested her feet in his lap. Then she put on a romance movie, and Peter found it all to be a little weird.

 

The  _ Titanic _ started, and Peter was rubbing her feet, and she was in  _ his _ sweats, and he thought their whole deal was to not do these couple things. Was this quantifiable as a couple thing? He was sweating trying to figure it out. Because he and Ned always used to watch movies together, so it was a friend thing.

 

Were they friends?

 

Soon, Michelle sat up and declared that she was bored. “You don’t have to do anything,” she offered, “I could, you know…” Her eyes darted to his crotch and back up to him.

 

“What?” Peter stupidly blurted. “Oh! Oh. I-- I mean if you want. Yeah, I’d be okay with that.”

 

Victorious, Michelle grinned. To get him warmed up, she sat on his lap and started kissing him. She grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts, and then she whispered, “I’ve been waiting to have you for a week, Parker. Work with me here.” And not long after, he was hard.

 

Michelle pulled off his pants. She knelt on the ground and, using the open flap in his underwear, gently exposed his length to the open air. Behind her, the movie continued; Rose and Jack were dancing as Michelle placed her lips on Peter’s tip. Then she progressed, the head, halfway down his shaft, bobbing her head up and down when it became too much for her mouth to handle. 

 

Peter’s toes curled. He took handfuls of her hair close to her scalp, using it as a way to control her movements. “ _ Fuck _ …” he groaned. Michelle continued, her voice humming as she tried pleasing him. He threw his head back, clenching his eyes shut. When he opened them back up, there was a figure looming in the hallway.

 

_ Shit _ . “MJ,” he yelled. “ _ MJ _ .”

 

“What?” she hissed at his tone. Michelle looked up, her eyes widening. She shot up, distancing herself from him. “Felicia, what the hell?”

 

“I’m hungry,” the woman admitted. That  _ voice _ . Peter knew it far too well.

 

“I thought you were at Johnny’s.” Michelle’s face was red. And Peter still had his dick out. He couldn’t move; they were both humiliated.

 

“He was busy,” Felicia pouted. “And this must be  _ your _ man friend.”

 

“Shut up,” Michelle scowled. “I need to use the bathroom.  _ Don’t _ go anywhere, Parker.” She covered her mouth as she walked away from him, and Peter was nursing a terrible unfulfilled ache as she left him.

 

The bathroom door slammed shut. He could feel Felicia’s presence coming closer and closer, and he finally got the sense to reach for a pillow and cover himself.

 

“Hey, Spidey,” Felicia purred into his ear. Her fingernails lightly traced his shoulder.

 

“Felicia,” he uncomfortably greeted back.

 

“ _ Hardy _ . The very one.” Felicia’s silver hair tickled the back of his neck as she laughed to herself. “I’ve always wondered what you looked like under that suit.”

 

Peter, practically glued to the pillow, stood up. “Alright, Felicia. Don’t even think about doing your stupid little tease thing, because it’s not gonna work. What the hell? I thought you were gonna stay in Wyoming.”

 

“Well, robbing banks was so much easier there. What was the fun in it?” Felicia mocked. “I missed a challenge. And, you know, as soon as I came back I found a listing for this place, posted by  _ your _ ex-girlfriend. It was fate, Spidey.”

 

“I should arrest you right now.”

 

“You won’t. Not when she still doesn’t know.” She smirked, and he saw that her lips were still stained red from the lipstick she had always wore.

 

Peter was going to say something else, but then Michelle came crashing out of the bathroom and gripped onto his wrist. She turned to Felicia and said, “Peter and I are going to have sex now. Hope you don’t mind, because Peter’s a screamer.”

 

He didn’t get to see Felicia’s reaction. Michelle was already pulling him down the hallway, his protective pillow dropping, and once they made it into her room, she kissed him roughly. She tasted like toothpaste.

 

“You feeling up to it?” Michelle asked. She had a condom in between her fingers. “We could just fake the noises.”

 

“I’m up for it,” he promised. His leg no longer hurt, anyways, but even if it had, Peter would’ve told her that.

 

They were loud for the sake of being loud that night. Michelle pulled out phrases from PornHub’s greatest hits; screaming at Peter to fuck her, harder, faster, and that, “I’m coming! I’m coming!” All at the tops of her lungs. She was trying to piss Felicia off, and was using Peter as an outlet. He screeched out, “Baby, you’re so hot,” and, “ _ Shit _ , I love being inside of you,” earning glances from Michelle that was a mixture of disappointment and infatuation. He was glad to help piss Felicia off, as she was the source of most of his high school problems.

 

And if Felicia didn’t care, then in the end, the two of them were still having a fun time trying to be louder than the other. Peter had forgotten how much fun Michelle was, when she wanted to be.

 

Her smile when she was underneath him, trying to be as serious as possible while moaning, “Oh! Oh, Peter! Peter, fuck me as hard as you can. I need all of you.” Well-- that was possibly the best thing he’d ever heard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got carried away! i didnt expect to be posting this today! but <3 hope yall enjoyed it. im gonna try to implement a weekly posting scheduled starting now :)
> 
> my twitter: @parkerbjones  
> my curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/hannrlee


	4. Chapter 4

**PETER**

 

The next morning, Peter was trying his hardest not to wake Michelle up.

 

It was an accident, him sleeping over. When they had both finished, Michelle curled against his side and nuzzled her head into his neck. “Jus’ a few minutes,” her voice slurred. Her hand glided across his sweat-drenched abdomen without care, and her leg rested on his.

 

Peter wrapped his hand around her waist and complied;  _ just a few minutes _ , he told himself. He closed his eyes for comfort. Soon, he realized, he was so  _ exhausted _ . Michelle against him practically lulled him to sleep, because it was relaxing, and familiar, and oh so warm. 

 

His few minutes turned into a few hours. Peter woke up first, and his stomach sank when he realized where he was. They had moved at some point in the night, so they were both on their sides but still embraced in each other’s arms. Peter woke up to his lips pressed lightly against Michelle’s forehead. His first instinct was to tighten the embrace, to bring her closer, like they always used to do.

 

Then Peter remembered their rules. He wasn’t supposed to be staying the night.

 

He slipped his arm out from under her, enjoying the touch of her skin on his as he did. Peter took one last look at her before deciding to get up; she looked so serene and beautiful in the morning, he almost convinced himself to stay. Instead, he very gently placed his lips against her’s, and got out of bed.

 

He threw his underwear on first, then all of his other layers. Soon, Peter realized his pants where still in the living room, and he had no clue where, exactly.

 

He moved to exit her bedroom, ignoring how the morning light bounced off her bare chest in the most artistic way. If he stared, he would’ve been there for hours.

 

Searching the living room lead Peter nowhere. He checked under the couch and  _ in _ the couch and everywhere else he thought of. Felicia stole them. Didn’t she?

 

His prediction came true when she threw them at his head. “Good morning, Spidey,” Felicia greeted. “Hope you don’t mind. I just didn’t want you to lose them in our messy apartment.”

 

“Thanks,” Peter grumbled. He pulled his pants on.

 

Felicia was smirking, her foot tapping, and he knew what she was about to say. She was  _ desperate _ to say it. “I never placed you as someone who was  _ good _ at sex. You were way too nice. But the way MJ was screaming last night-- wanna show me some moves?”

 

“Screw off,” he groaned. She was kidding; she knew her casual flirts were the way to get him to crumble in high school.

 

“It was a  _ compliment _ . But for real, you’ve got some moves.”

 

“What do you  _ want _ , Felicia? Did you just come back to fuck up my life again?” 

 

Felicia rolled her eyes. She’d gotten taller since he last saw her, and looking her in the face in daylight revealed how her roots were pitch black. “I need your help,” she said in a disgruntled tone.

 

“To steal something? No way. I don’t do that.” Peter walked towards the door.

 

“I’m serious when I say this, I’m done with that! But-- there’s this little piece of information on me that I need gone. I can’t move on if it’s still out there.” Her words stopped his movements. “Can you just think about it, Spidey?”

 

“What will you do if I say no?” Peter asked. His hand was on the door handle.

 

“Then maybe MJ deserves to know what you’ve been hiding all these years,” Felicia threatened. “And maybe some things she’s been fearing.”

 

Peter, with chills radiating through his body, muttered a, “Fuck off,” and swiftly left their apartment. Felicia was trying to blackmail him by using Michelle, and of course she was. He didn’t expect anything more from her.

 

He heard from Michelle once that weekend. She texted him, ‘ _ Last night was fun ;) I’m a little sore _ .’ Peter wasn’t sure if she expected a snarky reply back, or if that was her way of telling him that nothing else between them would take place for a short while. During his debate between sending back a wink emoji or not replying at all, Ned called him. 

 

Ned and Betty were coming home from their honeymoon from Hawaii, and Ned wanted to tell Peter all about married life. Soon, it was a few hours later, and it looked weird for Peter to text Michelle back. Hours after he had left her on read. 

 

He was so caught up in not looking clingy and it was driving him up the walls.

 

Way too quickly for his tastes, it was Wednesday. His work days were filled with constant notification checks, just hoping Michelle would text him. She usually made the move first, so he was hoping that would still be the case. 

 

What if Felicia  _ already _ told Michelle everything? And that’s why she hadn’t talked to him in four days?

 

Peter went home after work, still obsessing over it. He ordered himself a lonely dinner and sat down in front of the TV, not-so-casually looking at Michelle’s Instagram. God, he needed to get a grip-- they weren’t in a relationship. The whole point of their little sex escapade was so they would  _ not _ do the exact thing Peter was doing: spending his every waking moments worrying about the other person.

 

He set threw his phone to the other side of the couch. He was going to let it go.

 

Then, it started ringing. Peter launched towards it, letting himself hope that it was Michelle. And holy shit, it was! His stomach unclenched and he let a smile grace his face. 

 

When he answered, all he could hear was music blasting. “Peter,” Michelle lazily slurred over the phone. “I miss you.” She erupted into giggles, interrupting her words.

 

“Are you drunk?” Peter accused. 

 

“Maybe,” she laughed. “You have such good  _ hands _ , you know? I’ve never had a guy make me cum before with just his fingers. That’s because they’re all selfish, I think, but  _ you _ are so much different. Like--  _ what _ , Felicia?” 

 

Felicia was there. Of fucking course.

 

“She says I should stop announcing to the whole bar how good you are at sex. What?” Michelle screamed, probably to her roommate. “Peter is the best sex I’ve ever had! Why do I have to keep that quiet?”

 

His face went hot, feeling embarrassed and he wasn’t even there. “MJ, where are you?” Peter asked.

 

“The bar across the street from my apartment. Oh, and by the way, I am really, really looking forward to seeing you.” She was screaming over the loud music, and it made Peter’s ear ache. “Maybe when we get back to my apartment-- Felicia! That was my beer!”

 

“No more,” he heard Felicia command. She continued, but her voice didn’t carry over the phone.

 

By the time Peter left his apartment, Michelle had hung up. He, admittingly, was concerned; it was Wednesday at nine p.m., and she had work the next morning. Michelle never got wasted in high school, either. She’d have a few beers and she’d say she had a warm feeling in her stomach, but she never drank enough to lose control. Why now? Peter thought. 

 

And why did she call  _ him _ ? Michelle said she missed him, too-- but was that just her way of getting him to come over, or was it her subconscious freely speaking?

 

He arrived at the bar, and immediately spotted Michelle and Felicia by the bar. Felicia was wearing a black jumpsuit, sipping on her drink, and spotted Peter first, and waved him over. Michelle was facing away from him, in basic jeans and a t-shirt, and was flinching due to the guy yelling in her ear.

 

Peter got closer, and Felicia got Michelle’s attention. She turned around and her face lit up when she saw him, throwing her arms around his neck and falling into him. “Peter!” she cheered, her entire being reeking of alcohol. “Fuck, I missed you.”

 

He held onto her waist, and gave a slight hug back. She was hardly staying upright.

 

“This--  _ this _ is Peter?” said the guy who was talking to Michelle. 

 

She leaned backwards into Peter’s hands and surveyed his face with a huge grin. “Yep,” Michelle said contently to the guy. “Isn’t he everything?”

 

“I just thought you’d be, y’know,  _ taller _ ,” the guy laughed. Peter rolled his eyes, making the guy continue with, “No offense, dude. It’s just that she’s been talking about you like you were some sex god. What else am I supposed to think?”

 

“I never said that!” Michelle argued. Then, chuckling, she corrected herself. “No, I did. I did.”

 

Then, the guy’s whole vibe changed. He took a step forward and slyly took a hold of Michelle’s elbow, and he leaned down to whisper something in his ear.

 

Peter couldn’t hear it. But, Michelle, still laughing, shook her head. “Peter’s taking me home,” she denied.

 

“He doesn’t  _ have _ to,” the guy continued.

 

“MJ, let’s go,” Peter prompted.

 

“Dude, seriously. You should feel selfish, restricting her options to only you. I mean, look at her!” he argued, his grip on Michelle’s elbow getting tighter.

 

Peter’s fists clenched, his nostrils flared, and he fought off the urge to punch the guy in the jaw. Jealousy was strictly against their rules. If Michelle remembered that he hit that guy in the morning, she’d be pissed.

 

Damn it-- screw the rules. Michelle was trying to get her arm free, visibly uncomfortable, and the guy was staring Peter down. “ _ Peter _ ,” Felicia warned, knowing what he was about to do.

 

Swiftly and effortlessly, after a final smug smirk, Peter clocked him right in the nose. His hand vibrated slightly as the guy stumbled to the ground, blood already pouring across his hand. “Peter!” Felicia yelled again. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

Michelle, on the other hand, was gawking at him. “That was awesome!” she screamed. “That was-- that was  _ so  _ hot.”

 

“Yeah, uh, we should probably leave,” Peter commented as a crowd drew, and the guy began to regain his senses.

 

He held onto Michelle’s hands and he navigated the way out of the bar. The whole time, including the distance across the street, she was egging him on; telling him how turned on that made her feel and that they should find more assholes to punch. It was just because she was wasted, Peter knew, but she sounded genuine.

 

“You’ve gotten so strong,” Michelle purred in his ear outside her apartment door. She had the key, and had Peter pinned against the wall and was rubbing his biceps. “You’ve always been strong but holy shit, your muscles are like, the size of my head!”

 

“Thanks, MJ. I need your key.” He needed to get her into bed-- and for the first time since they reunited, Peter meant that in a total non-sexual way.

 

Michelle dove her hand into the right cup of her bra, and pulled out the brass key. “Let’s have some fun,” she teased, and sloppily attempted at kissing Peter.

 

She tasted like pure whiskey. He pushed her away and snatched the key from her hand. Peter unlocked the door and immediately grabbed her hand again, and started to pull her to her bedroom.

 

He didn’t exactly have much time left for this. He had a job, too, and he really just wanted to sleep.

 

Once they made it inside her room, Peter placed his hands on her hips and gently maneuvered her onto the bed. “MJ, it’s time for bed, okay?” he said, his voice high pitched, like he was talking to a toddler.

 

Michelle groaned in a drunken defeat, already beginning to unbutton her jeans. They got stuck on her thighs, and with a yawn she asked Peter to help her.

 

He did. And, when he’d chucked them into her laundry pile and began to say goodnight, Michelle asked him, “Can you stay?” Her words were still meshed together and slow.

 

“I’m not having sex with you tonight,” Peter admitted.

  
“Well, I’m just asking you to sleep. I miss you.” 

 

He knew he should be going home. Felicia would be back soon, and she’d make sure that Michelle would live to see the next morning, since she was using her as leverage. Michelle was using her puppy dog eyes, though, and-- and what if she choked on her own vomit before Felicia came back? Then it’d be all Peter’s fault. And he couldn’t have that.

 

He slid off his own jeans and socks and fell into bed next to Michelle. “Only so you don’t die,” he said, tucking them in underneath the sheets.

 

Michelle placed her head on his chest and closed her eyes. “I missed you,” she said again.

 

“I know.”

 

“For years, Peter.”

 

“Years?”

 

No response.

 

“MJ,  _ years _ ?”

 

And when he looked at her again, she was already passed out. 

 

One more comment for him to obsess over.

 

**MICHELLE**

 

She felt like there was an elephant crushing her skull.

 

Michelle knew it was a bad idea to go out, but Felicia had begged her. “We’re living together, so we might as well become friends, right? And friends go drinking with each other,” she had said. And after a long, hard day at work, getting a little buzzed sounded enticing.

 

However, something came over her, and her little buzz turned into a major hangover. Michelle didn’t even want to think about how high her tab was, considering how little her job payed.

 

She and Felicia had sat down at the bar and this guy approached them. David or Danny-- Michelle didn’t pay attention. He had asked her if she wanted to dance, and Michelle said, “Oh, no thanks. I have a boyfriend.” And she hadn’t even realized what she had said until Felicia had gasped, “You and Peter are official?”

 

“What? No!” Michelle yelled. The stranger had left after the rejection, so they were able to talk freely. “I-- I just said that so he’d leave.”

 

“Okay. Sure,” Felicia chuckled into her beer. “I mean, you two already act like a couple. Why not just take the final step? Instead of doing whatever you’re doing.”

 

“I’m not talking about this with you.”

 

“Why not?” her roommate argued.

 

Michelle didn’t answer, and to make sure she wouldn’t have to, she ordered herself some shots. And every time Felicia had brought up Peter, and why Michelle and Peter should be a couple, and why it’s stupid that Michelle is replacing her feelings with sex--which is bullshit, because Felicia doesn’t even know Michelle!--she ordered more.

 

And the more Michelle drank, and the more Felicia talked about Peter, the more Michelle craved to see him, touch him, kiss him. Drunk Michelle was full of pent up lust that was just begging to be released.

 

Things got hazy after a while. She remembered describing her and Peter’s very first time to Felicia in depth. “He didn’t know what to do, at all. And-- and compared to now, it’s  _ amazing _ . Felicia, I’m serious, he’s the best I’ve ever had. He’s like a sex  _ god _ .” After that, however, was when she started losing pieces of her memory.

 

Michelle didn’t remember dialing Peter. She could recall what happened when he got there, though, and how he punched someone in the face. Why did he do that? Unclear. Even more unclear was how Michelle happened to wake up with Peter holding her.

 

He must’ve made sure she got home safe. After that, though, why did he decide to stay? Michelle was pantless and she could see Peter’s on the floor, and she wondered, for a second, if they had sex last night.

 

The second went by in a flash; Peter would never do that. She was blackout drunk, and he was respectful and decent.

 

When she moved, she let out a loud groan. Everything was too bright for her sensitive eyes, and the scent of his cologne was too much for Michelle’s nauseous stomach. “ _ Shit _ ,” she let out, feeling her brain actually shift when she moved. “Oh, jesus christ.”

 

That woke Peter up. His hand rested on her lower back, and instinctively, he tightened his hold on her. “G’morning,” he whispered. 

 

Michelle, groggy as hell, sat up. Peter’s hand followed. “Why are you still here, Parker?” she asked.

 

“You asked me,” Peter replied, not yet opening his eyes. “Plus, I didn’t want you to choke on your own tongue.”

 

She sneered, “Shut up,” before finally standing up. Her legs felt like Jell-O as she tumbled into the wall, and as all the blood in her body rushed to her head. Michelle wanted to fall onto the floor and stay there for the whole day-- but she really needed to pee.

 

“You good?” Peter asked. He stood up himself and walked around the bed, and held onto her shoulders to stabilize her. He laughed, “Still drunk?”

 

Michelle rolled her shoulders so his hands would vacate them. “I’m fine. I just--” She took a step forward, almost tripping over his pants that were sprawled on the floor. “Okay…” she admitted, “I need a little help.”

 

Peter placed his hands on her waist, now, and they walked out of her room and across the hall. “You were so drunk last night,” he told her.

 

“Thank you. I didn’t  _ know that _ .”

 

“I’ve never seen you that drunk. It- it was kind of funny. You were just going on and on about how great I am, and because of that, I think I love drunk MJ more than sober MJ.” Peter’s breath hitched, and he started stammering. “Uh-- I didn’t mean-- I just-- All I wanted to say was that I  _ like _ sober-- I was trying to make a joke, uh--”

 

Outside of the bathroom door, Michelle stopped him. “Please stop yelling in my ear, Peter. And wait out here. Thank you.”

 

She stumbled into the bathroom, making sure the door didn’t close completely. Her head couldn’t take that.

 

“So…” Peter continued. “Why’d you get drunk last night, MJ?”

 

“I don’t know. It was a good idea at the time.”

 

“Cool. I just thought maybe there was a reason…” His awkward tendencies were bothering Michelle so early in the morning-- or maybe it was just because she’d never felt so shitty before in her life. “Like, work or something.”

 

“Fuck,” she gasped. She pulled her underwear back up from her ankles and flushed the toilet. “Fuck! I have work!”

 

Peter pushed the door open, concern gracing his face. “S-so do I.”

 

Michelle breezed through washing her hands, yelling, despite her headache, “Well, shouldn’t you be going?”

  
“I--” He started smiling, and his eyes looked her up and down. Peter looked good in the morning, in his plaid boxers and his black shirt, with his hair messy like it was; he was going to make her late to work. Even more late than she already was. “I’m the heir. Practically. Can’t I do whatever I want?”

 

“We both know you don’t believe that,” Michelle scoffed. “Besides, even if you did, I am perfectly replaceable.”

 

“Call in sick,” Peter prompted. He took a step forward and gently grabbed her hips.

 

“No! I need to work.”

 

He pulled her into him, her lower body leaning into his. “Come on, MJ. I remember a time where I was the boring stickler who wouldn’t ditch class, and  _ you _ wanted me to leave first hour to get your bellybutton pierced.”

 

That was a good afternoon. Peter had caved, of course, and the freshly eighteen year old Michelle had pulled him out of first hour for a Decathlon Emergency. She pussied out, though, and didn’t get the piercing; but then Peter took her to get cheeseburgers, and they ate them on a park bench and basked in the glory of not being in chemistry.

 

Cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers sounded  _ really _ good to Michelle right now.

 

“We’ve all changed since high school,” she said, even though she had already made up her mind.

 

“Yeah. But not really.” Peter tugged on her hips again, eliciting a smile out of her. “Come on. Call in sick.”

 

“ _ Fine _ ,” she gave in. “You have to get me some food, though. If you wanna stay.”

 

“More rule breaking. I like.”

 

Michelle rolled her eyes and shoved his chest, and he moved backwards. “Shut up, Parker.”

 

Peter helped Michelle back into bed, soon after, and then he fetched the bottle of Advil and gave her two pills. Gladly, she took them, and then they both called into their jobs and gave their excuses. Michelle said she was throwing up like crazy; Peter said that Stark had taken him on a rash trip to Dubai. They lived different lives.

 

He, also, got her a glass of water, and every five minutes or so, he would tell her to take a few sips. They were laying in bed together, their feet intertwined, and sometimes he’d literally lift the glass up to her lips for her. It was sweet, really. Peter was trying to make sure Michelle didn’t feel like that for the whole day.

 

It was also very… domestic. Snuggling together, ditching work for each other, taking care of her, the little kisses Peter would give her when he was bored-- it was  _ incredibly _ domestic. Michelle’s one long term relationship was with  _ Peter _ , and she knew how he acted. She knew how she acted. She used to love staying in bed with him all day, and there they were, back at it.

 

On any other day, Michelle might’ve been adamant to kick him out. However, she just didn’t have the energy. And-- he was going to be getting her cheeseburgers in a few hours. That was much more important than following Michelle’s little rule book.

 

They put on  _ Titanic _ again, trying to finish what they started the weekend before. Michelle rested her head on Peter’s outstretched arm, and with his other, his hand soothingly rubbed up and down her legs. Up and down, occasionally placing his lips on the back of her neck, his fingertips inspiring her to sleep more. Which is what she did; Michelle dozed off against him, just ask Rose was getting undressed for Jack.

 

She woke up to Peter’s voice. It wasn’t directed towards her, though, and he was no longer pressed against her. “Felicia,” he strictly said, “I told you  _ no _ .”

 

“It’s good for  _ both of us _ . Why aren’t you getting that?” she hissed back. Michelle opened her eyes, and the two of them were standing right outside her bedroom. Peter was holding a bag full of food.

 

“I’m not going to help you st--” He looked over Felicia’s shoulder and cut himself off. “Steal Michelle’s keys. Ask to borrow her’s. Have a good afternoon, Felicia.”

 

Peter gave a fake smile and pushed past her, closing the door behind him. He quickly slid his pants off and got back into bed with Michelle. “I got food,” he said with excitement.

 

“I’m starving.” Michelle dove her hand into the fast food bag, pulling out one delicious, perfectly made, cheeseburger. Her mouth was already watering. “What was that about? With Felicia?”

 

He hesitated, and played it off by shoving a fry into his mouth. “It- it was nothing. Let’s watch another movie, okay?”

 

Michelle complied, and he brought up Netflix on her computer and chose the first comedy movie he saw. So, they sat together in bed, shoving their faces with greasy junk, with one of Peter’s arms thrown around Michelle. 

 

And, they sat like that for most of the day. Michelle never mentioned the Felicia situation again, even though it was bothering her to a great degree. She did mention Peter’s punching incident, and spent the greater portion of ten minutes making fun of him for it. “Who are you going to lose it on next, Peter? The mailman? The plumber? I’d pay to see those showdowns happen.”

 

Peter shrugged it off with a roll of his eyes, and then he engulfed her in a kiss. A passionate, nothing less than lovely kiss, and Michelle could feel his smirk against her lips.

 

They didn’t have sex that day. That was the farthest they got; and by the time Peter had gone home, Michelle was shaming herself for letting him stay all day. And shaming herself, as well, for being so fucking happy that she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter became very long and i hadnt planned that <3 anywho i hoped you enjoyed it!! next update should be sometime next week!
> 
> twitter: @parkerbjones  
> curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/hannrlee


	5. Chapter 5

**PETER**

 

Michelle hit the headboard and let out a disgruntled groan. “Keep going,” she begged, pulling Peter’s lips back to her’s, desperately.

 

Surprisingly, it had been a while since they had sex. Well, more like a week-- but in the days between then and now, they’d spent almost every evening together. She made Peter cook dinner for them, and Peter made her go get ice cream in Manhattan with him, for no other reason than, “I remember how much you like hazelnut ice cream, and I heard their’s is phenomenal.” And, every night, Peter fell asleep with Michelle in his arms. It was nice, and cozy, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he wanted to do so again.

 

Michelle, on the other hand, would always wake up, look over at him, and say, “Peter, go  _ home _ .” It bothered Peter, maybe a little more than it should’ve. They acted like a couple. They  _ were _ a couple. Michelle just didn’t want to pull the trigger, and Peter felt like she was trailing him along with no end reward.

 

He went over to her apartment that day, ready to talk things out. Felicia answered the door and tried trapping him in the kitchen, but Peter breezed past her and walked down the hallway, and busted into Michelle’s room. She was sitting on her bed, typing on her computer, and grinned when she saw Peter. “I didn’t know you were coming over tonight,” she said.

 

“Me either,” he admitted. “MJ, can we-- can we talk? I know what you’re going to say to this, but I’ve just gotta get it off my chest and--”

 

Michelle closed her computer, and pulled her sweatshirt over her head. All she had on underneath was a see-through bralette. “Keep going,” she urged. “It’s just a little hot in here.”

 

“Uh, anyways, I’ve just been thinking recently, and--” Peter followed Michelle’s every movements with his eyes. She stretched her core, her hand gliding up her chest and over her breast, and she did it with an expression that it was making Peter crumble. “And, and, uh, I think-- Oh, fuck it.”

 

Peter tugged up on the hemline of his t-shirt, moving upwards until it eventually found its way to the floor. He dove onto the bed and kicked away at his shoes as he did. Michelle chuckled, and said, “I knew you’d cave.”

 

Her hit the headboard as they fell backwards, but she still begged for more against Peter’s lips. Finally, they’d have sex again. Finally, after a very long week of unintentional abstinence.

 

Michelle’s fingers trailed the skin above his waistband, rounding out in the front to grab ahold of his belt buckle. While she occupied herself with that, Peter’s hand also went south; instead of bothering to take her sweats off, though, his hand delved under the fabric, and put pressure above her underwear.

 

She bit onto his lip, and arched herself into his fingers. Michelle finally got his belt off, and began to loosen his jeans. She pulled them, and his underwear, down as Peter’s fingers started to slip underneath her panties, when suddenly, a smashing noise came from the kitchen.

 

“ _ Fuck _ !” Felicia screamed.

 

“Should we--” Peter said against Michelle’s lips.

 

“I’m sure she’s fine,” she dismissed, engaging in their heated kiss again and directing his hand to the area she most desired.

 

Two minutes. That’s the small duration of time where Michelle was quivering beneath him and begging for more. Two minutes was all they could experience, because Felicia had knocked on Michelle’s door. “Guys?” she yelled. “I-- I need some help.”

 

Michelle rolled her eyes and groaned. “Are you kidding?” she whispered to Peter. She kissed him one more time and propped herself onto her elbows, and Peter took that as a sign to withdraw his hands from her. “What’s the matter, Felicia?”

 

“I--  _ God _ , I need some help.” Felicia sounded like she was in pain, her wincing high pitched in Peter’s ears.

 

Begrudgingly, he rolled off of the bed and trudged to the door. He threw Michelle her shirt before he opened it, and when he did, Felicia was cradling her hand with a towel, her face proud, and she greeted him with a wink. “Felicia--” Peter started.

 

Michelle’s hands grasped onto his bare back as she rounded his body to stand next to him. “Felicia!” she screamed, seeing the sight before her. “What happened to your hand?”

 

“I was trying to make dinner, and I dropped some glass and accidentally sliced my hand. Peter, you mentioned that you know how to stitch? Do you by any chance--”

 

Jesus. Christ.

 

To say that he had just been simply avoiding her was an understatement; Peter was dodging her like the Black Plague. Once, she tried trapping him in the bathroom so she could talk to him, and Peter, exhausted and not wanting to deal with her, picked her up by the legs and practically tossed her down the hall. She landed on her feet, of course. She always did.

 

Now, Felicia really did have him trapped. 

 

“I-- I can’t sew through human flesh,” he lied.

 

“I don’t have insurance, and I can’t afford to go to the ER. Please, could you just try?”

 

Michelle held onto Peter’s arm, and gripped it for reassurance. “You’ve done it before. Remember? I tripped and hit my head and you sewed it up. And--  _ you don’t have insurance _ ?”

 

“Uh… Peter, please? I know we don’t know each other well, but I’d really owe you, probably thousands of dollars.” She wasn’t begging for Peter’s sympathy; she was trying to gain Michelle’s. The one who’d force Peter into it.

 

“Do it,” she whispered in his ear. “We can resume what we started later.”

 

He nodded, and Felicia sighed with joy. She turned to Michelle and asked, “I don’t know if this is too much to ask, but-- I was making dinner for all of us and--”

 

“Yeah. I’ll go get some pizza.”

 

She left the apartment, trusting in her roommate and her-- her Peter, in less time than it took Peter to get Felicia situated in the bathroom. He didn’t believe her, not for a second. She was completely fine before Michelle rounded the corner. “Take the towel off,” Peter directed.

 

“You could be nicer,” she grumbled. The towel fell to the counter, revealing a gash. It looked quite real, with real looking blood polluting Felicia’s pale skin. But… but it was  _ sparkling _ .

 

“You’re crazy. How long did it take you to do this?” It was fucking make up. Now, however, Felicia had Michelle out of the house, and could scream through walls, if she wanted.

 

“Not that long, actually. I’ve become a master at these things.” Felicia turned the water on, and stuck her hand underneath it. “How good was my acting? Oscar worthy?”

 

“It got Michelle out of the house, didn’t it?” Peter said. He went to vacate the small space, but Felicia stuck her foot out and hooked her foot around the door, slamming it shut.

 

She hopped off the counter, and stood between Peter and the doorknob. They were relatively the same height, one of them maybe an inch taller than the other. At times, it was hard to tell. In this moment, though, Felicia, with all the power, towered over him. “It’s time for you to finally listen to me,” she demanded.

 

“I don’t have to do anything. You broke your promise to me, you ruined my life, and you almost put me in the hospital. I was eighteen!”

 

“I’m only two years older than you. You were experienced, and honestly, I thought you were some gross old man parading around as young adult. That isn’t true though, is it?” A smirk grew on her face. Peter glared at her. “Sorry, I’ll stop. Did I ruin your life? Because, basically, you’re back with her. And if you’d just let me explain, you will see that I haven’t broken  _ anything _ .”

 

“Alright,” Peter caved. “Explain.”

 

“I’m trying to move to France. I’m fluent in French, and it’s a pretty cool place, and I can get a boring job and die boring. But, I can’t. The last time I tried going through border security, I almost got arrested. Anyways, there’s this weird little database that has everything I’ve ever done on it. And everything  _ you’ve _ ever done, and everything every superhero has ever done.”

 

He interrupted, “You’re not a hero. And-- that’s illegal. The government isn’t allowed to--”

 

“Since when have they followed their own rules? I need your help to wipe it of any trace of me. And then I’ll be out of your life, for good. I promise.”

 

“Felicia--”

 

“I’m desperate here. And-- and if you don’t help me, then maybe Michelle would like to learn some interesting things.” Felicia reached up, and cleared his face of hair. Her fingernail breezed past his skin. “Come on. It’ll be like old times.”

 

“You manipulating me into getting what you want?”

 

She grinned. “Exactly.”

 

**MICHELLE**

 

She entered the apartment, and immediately heard Felicia’s joyous laughter.

 

That was… weird, Michelle thought. Peter was supposed to be stitching her up, not making her laugh. Although, she dismissed it; maybe she was on the phone with one of her friends. Michelle set the pizza down on the table and tiptoed around the apartment. They weren’t in the living room, both of their bedroom doors were wide open, and Peter’s shoes were still scattered on her floor, so he was still there. The only place for Peter and Felicia to be, was behind the locked bathroom door.

 

The small, cramped bathroom. Where Michelle will be curling her hair and will knock her elbow into the wall. Where it’s almost impossible to shave your legs in. They were both in there, together, and Michelle felt jealousy course through her veins.

 

Felicia was laughing at something he said. Peter was funny, but was he  _ that _ funny? And why did he want to make her laugh? She’d been gone close to an hour; surely, he had to be sick of her. Michelle never could be around her for very long. And had they been in there the whole time? What were they doing in there?

 

For a split second, Michelle let herself think that they were being more than friendly. It was a stupid thought, because… Well, she didn’t really have a reason for why it was stupid-- she just knew it was. However, she let herself become paranoid. They never clarified that they couldn’t sleep with other people. Michelle never intended to feel the need to be exclusive, and now Peter was in her bathroom, making her roommate giggle with his stupid charm.

 

When Michelle asked Peter was they were doing, he said, “Oh, nothing. I was trying to calm her down by telling a funny story. She kept moving around and it made it hard to work.”

 

Peter noticed the confounded look on Michelle’s face, and set down his pizza so he could cup her cheek and bring her in for a kiss. “Is there something wrong?” he asked, lovingly, sweetly.

 

They were eating pizza in her bed, kissing randomly, talking about their feelings, like some old married couple. This was  _ not _ what Michelle planned for. 

 

She grabbed Peter’s plate and put both of theirs on the floor. “I wasn’t done!” he yelled, reaching to get to back. Instead, Michelle pinned his hands above his head and moved into his lap. “I was. I was done.”

 

Michelle had little determination for their rendevouz that night. She loved the nights where they just stayed in, watching a movie, and enjoying each other’s companies. Like their lives together in high school, except as adults. And maybe the thought crossed her mind a few hundred times. She had never been good at admitting wrongness, and would be stubborn until the day she died. 

 

The thought, no matter how many days Peter held her, still pained her. Michelle couldn’t be his girlfriend. She couldn’t go to restaurants with him, or work parties, and definitely couldn’t go to dinner with his aunt. But… but she couldn’t lose him. Especially not to her roommate.

 

As her thoughts spiraled, her passion increased. She was proving to herself that she wanted Peter’s body, not his soul. And, maybe she was proving to Felicia that Peter wanted Michelle, and nobody else.

 

It wasn’t like her to act like this. Nevertheless, she followed through on it, and when she rolled off of Peter and closed her eyes to sleep, she asked Peter if he could leave. “What?” he gasped. “Why?”

 

“I have an early morning. And when was the last time you were home? Don’t you have plants to water?”

 

“I was  _ just _ \--” he tried to argue. “Okay, I’ll go. I have an early morning too.”

 

She didn’t steal a look at him before she left, but just going off of his voice--that sounded like Michelle had stabbed him in the gut--she would’ve bet that he was hurt.

 

She had a hard time sleeping. She was almost tempted to call Peter, close to one in the morning, when she heard Felicia on the phone. “ _ Tomorrow _ ?” she had hissed. “Peter, let’s talk about this now. You promised-- I don’t care! Meet me outside, as soon as possible.”

 

That was weirder than weird. That was outlandish, and made Michelle feel like all of her fears were correct. Peter was fucking her roommate. 

 

The next time she saw Peter, she was even more convinced. She was coming home from work when two people--a man and a woman--came crashing out of the lobby. It was Felicia, with her silver, unmistakable hair, and Michelle would have recognized the back of Peter’s head from anywhere.

 

And he didn’t call her that night. Not even a text.

 

When she finally spoke to Peter, Michelle had gotten home early from work, and he was walking out of Felicia’s bedroom. “Wh-- Hey, MJ. What’s up? You’re looking really--”

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, ignoring his greeting. She could see Felicia poking her head out from the crack of the door.

 

She gave a stern glare, and the door slammed.

 

“I’m looking for you. Duh.”

 

“You know I don’t get off work until five. It’s three.”

 

“And yet you’re here, aren’t you?”

 

Michelle bit her lip, suffocating her words. Her suspicious weren’t right. They couldn’t be. Peter would  _ never _ do that, even if he was into the ‘sleeping with other people’ thing. He’d respect the roommate boundaries, and wouldn’t sneak into Michelle’s apartment and have sex with Felicia while she was gone.

 

High school Peter wouldn’t.

 

Freshman, sophomore, and junior Peter wouldn’t.

 

She wasn’t so sure about him in their senior year, and she definitely wasn’t sure about him now. He changed, so much.

 

Michelle grabbed onto his wrist, and dragged him to her bedroom. She was so insecure, and it was driving her mad. “I have a question,” she prompted as soon as the door closed. “And I’m just  _ asking _ . This isn’t me accusing you of anything.”

 

“Well, I’m an open book, so…” Peter shedded his jacket, and sat down on her bed.

 

She sat down next to him, with a few inches of space in between. “Are you, by any chance, having sex with other girls?”

 

“ _ What _ ?” he yelped. “No! No, MJ, I’m not. Why would you think that? Are  _ you _ ? With men, I mean.”

 

“I said I wasn’t accusing you, Parker. So what if I am? What would you think?” Either way, his answer would not be satisfactory; if he said he cared, Michelle would have to lecture him about their  _ rules _ \-- their rules that she never followed. If he said he didn’t care, that’d mean he didn’t care for her at all.

 

Michelle was confusing herself.

 

“I-- I’d be a little confused. And, maybe, a little… hurt. B-because you never told me. And, before you ask, I don’t want to sleep with other girls.”

 

“How did you know that’s what I was--”

 

“Because I know you.”

 

Peter narrowed the gap between them, his hand etching onto her thigh, and his lips beginning to graze her’s. Michelle cleared her throat, having yet to close her eyes and lean in. “Then why are you spending so much time with Felicia?”

 

She wasn’t done yet; her natural intuitive side needed answers.

 

“You thought I was having  _ sex _ with  _ Felicia _ ? That’s the worst idea you’ve ever had. MJ, it’s nothing, I swear.” Finally, their lips merged, and they both fell backwards.

 

Michelle tugged on Peter’s wrist to stop him. “Maybe-- maybe we need to cool it a bit. No more sleepovers and no more hanging out with my roommate. Maybe we go over to your place instead. I don’t know, we can think about it.”

 

“MJ--”

 

“I mean we can still hang out during the day, and all, but-- But we both go back to our separate beds at night. Does that sound good?”

 

His eyes searched her’s, yearning for some kind of explanation, that she didn’t even have. “Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. Whatever you want.”

 

And the way Peter kissed her-- he didn’t mean it. Of course, he didn’t mean it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been a while and ive been wanting to give yall a chapter but this is so ***! ugh. i hope yall enjoyed either way. thanks for being patient.
> 
> twitter: @parkerbjones  
> curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/hannrlee


	6. Chapter 6

**CH6**

**MICHELLE**

 

It was three in the morning when she got the sudden urge to paint.

 

She wasn’t tired; Michelle was never tired anymore, not after she kicked Peter out of her bed. Him being in the space next to her was crucial to her sleep pattern, apparently. So, she’d call him at weird hours of the night, asking if he wanted to come over.

 

Michelle strictly reinforced her “no sleepover” policy, even when she did murmur, “Leave when I fall asleep.” She had sworn to Peter that if she woke up, and he was still there beside her, then that’d be it. Whatever they had would be over.

 

Tonight, however, Michelle didn’t feel like sleeping. Not even after Peter came over, not even after she topped, for once, and not even when his arms wrapped around her and he tensely waited for her to say something.

 

She wondered if her easel was still shoved into the back of her closet, and if her paints were still good. Because, the last time Michelle painted anything was over a year ago, when she was in crisis mode while deciding if she should take a job in LA or stay in New York.

 

But, she wasn’t in crisis mode right now. There was nothing for her to be in distress over-- not when Peter and Felicia, separately, said that they were  _ not _ hooking up. 

 

Not that she would care, Michelle kept telling herself. (Who was she kidding, though; she cared so much she felt sick to her stomach.)

 

She just felt like painting, is all. She rolled out of bed, feeling Peter’s fingers try to keep her steady within his grasp. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice tired.

 

Michelle just shrugged. She pulled her panties on and grabbed the first shirt within her reach, which just happened to be Peter’s button up. She buttoned it up halfway, leaving her chest somewhat exposed, and drifted to her closet.

 

As she moved things around to drag her easel out, Peter let out a few confused grunts. He stayed silent, though, and whenever Michelle checked over her shoulder, he was always watching and marveling at the sight before him. “Have a problem, Parker?” she eventually said.

 

“Uh-- no, no. I just have to pee,” he answered, but never moved his body.

 

“So…? Go pee.”

 

Throwing an unused canvas to the ground behind her, Michelle finally got a grasp on her easel. With a tug, it was free from the compacted closet. She heard the sheets start to ruffle and Peter gulping. “That’s a smart idea.”

 

Michelle set it up by her opened window. It was far too cold outside to have an open window, but the biting chill was clearing her mind.  Her first stroke on the canvas was short and soft, like she was dipping her toe into the water. The ones that followed were random. Random stripes of red and blue and black, which made nothing in particular. 

 

Her shoulders slumped as she looked at what she had just created. Nothing; she had created nothing. God, what was she  _ doing _ ? The relaxing chill had now became a stabbing pain, and Michelle realized she had been standing there for close to forty minutes. And Peter wasn’t back from the bathroom yet.

 

_ Felicia is home _ , her mind immediately thought.  _ Maybe _ \--

 

Then, a pair of hands firmly gripped her waist. She jumped, gasping and leaning into Peter’s body. “You scared me,” she exhaled, her heart pounding against her chest.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered. He moved her hair to clear her neck, his lips parting to place a sloppy kiss on her shoulder. “You look really sexy.”

 

Michelle’s heart beats picked up again. Peter’s hands went underneath the shirt she was wearing, and he absentmindedly rubbed her lower stomach as his mouth clashed with her neck. “I used to love watching you paint,” he said, his breath hot. “And your outfit? Let me just say, I don’t think you should own anything else.”

 

“I don’t even own the top,” she replied. His nose grazed up her neck, and his lips pressed lightly against her soft skin.

 

“Keep it. You look better in it than I ever will.” Peter paused, starting to evaluate what was in front of them. “So… why are you painting?”

 

She shrugged, unsure herself. “Guess I got inspired.”

 

“Do you remember when you used to draw me?” he questioned. His hands roamed her body more, and lightly swayed, like the wind was pushing them; his fingers got high enough to graze her breast, and low enough to peek underneath the fabric of her underwear. “I still have some.” He peppered more wet kisses on her, and started to focus on the spot where her neck met her jaw. “A few are framed. I hung a few on my wall recently.”

 

The way Peter was touching her and the way he was talking made Michelle feel two entirely different emotions. When his hands created friction on her skin, she leaned back into him, her legs falling into a comfortable position between one of his own, and she could feel him becoming stiff against her. It overwhelmed Michelle, her lust ready to take over and pounce him yet again. However, Peter was  _ talking _ . Talking about the sweet little things she used to do; painting, drawing, both of which she only ever did when she was inspired by Peter. And he had some hanging up? He did that recently?  _ That _ made Michelle emotional.

 

Not even five minutes ago, she was convinced that Peter had gone into Felicia’s room. She had this image in her head of them doing exactly what they were doing; his hands desperate for her body, Peter loving the taste of her skin, and Felicia being driven wild by his teasing.

 

“I think you should go home,” she whispered. “It’s getting late.”

 

“Just a little longer,” he begged. 

 

Nothing would compare to the hurt she felt when thinking about Peter being with Felicia, however-- Michelle craved him. She craved the reassurance that he wanted her. 

 

She hated being so needy and desperate. She absolutely despised herself for it.

 

Without saying a word, Michelle turned around and locked her hands around his neck. She kissed him, feeling his tongue delve between her lips while he firmly grabbed onto her behind, and hoisted her up. “Just a  _ little _ ,” she said.

 

“I can be fast,” Peter promised. The adoring look in his eyes quickly turned into hunger, and with one hand, he ripped off the shirt. A button popped off, and Michelle gasped. 

 

He didn’t address it. Instead, he helped her to become rid of the fabric completely, and her bare chest pressed against his. Peter carried her to the bed, and they were back in the same position they were from an hour ago. 

 

This time, however, Michelle was stuck in her thoughts. She kept obsessing over Peter and Felicia’s new found friendship. And how, when she asked Peter to come over that night, he had arrived within ten minutes, as if he was already in the area. And how he had bruises and scratches on him, a new occurrence. Michelle didn’t press him on it, remembering what happened the last time she did, but when she stared at them, he occupied her lips demandingly so she  _ couldn’t _ press on it.

 

So, the headboard banged against the wall. Her body moved in sync with him. She felt all the things she always felt: euphoria and pleasure and lust. And all the while, Michelle felt her heart flaking. 

 

She was needy and desperate and packed tight with loads of trust issues, and it annoyed her to no end.

 

“You can go home now,” Michelle said afterwards, and her breathing hadn’t even returned to normal.

 

Peter just nodded. He sulked onto his feet, quickly dressing, and his eyes peered at her the whole time. Sad and hurt, yet understanding. This was the deal, Michelle kept reminding herself. If Peter was going to try to  _ guilt _ her into changing her conditions, then, well--

 

Well, she probably would have caved, if given enough time and pressure.

 

Michelle had time, alright, but the extra pressure was missing. Every time she’d call Peter for the next week and a half, he’d say he was busy. He was with Ned, he’d say, or with his aunt or he had a work trip upstate. His excuses had become worse as time went on and after about four calls, he started doubling up, saying, “Oh, I’m also busy tomorrow, too.”

 

Did she hurt him that bad? Had this been going on for too long? Did the time away from him, with Felicia disappearing, as well, send Michelle into a stress relieving painting frenzy? Perhaps, certainly, and obviously-- those were the answers to her questions. Her landlord was not going to be happy once she saw the mural Michelle painted on the wall.

 

She stopped calling, deeming herself obnoxious. And, a day later, she heard from Peter, just not in the way she wanted.

 

Michelle was sitting in her bed, typing up her assignment, wearing his shirt, again, when she heard things being knocked over in Felicia’s room. “ _ Shut up _ ,” her roommate mumbled. “ _ You’re so stupid _ .”

 

She reached for her headphones, not in the mood to hear Felicia crawl into bed with someone. And, that’s when she heard his voice; faint, and low, almost so quiet Michelle might have been going crazy through withdrawls. But, it was there. She knew his voice. “ _ Who places a vase right in front of the window? _ ” Peter replied. “ _ We should’ve just gone to my place _ .”

 

His place?

 

_ His place _ ?

 

The blood rushed to Michelle’s head; she knew it. She knew it all along. Peter and Felicia. Felicia and Peter. They were-- they were--

 

“ _ We didn’t have enough time, and you know it. Now sit down _ .”

 

Michelle jammed her earbuds in, her whole world crushing her thinking about what was about to happen. She was ashamed to admit that she shed a tear, and then a few more, and proceeded to wipe her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. 

 

His shirt. She was wearing his shirt that no longer smelled like him.

 

**PETER**

 

“I should’ve known,” Felicia scoffed. “I should’ve known you were going to fuck it up.”

 

He was on the floor, his suit around his ankles and a hole in his abdomen. When Felicia started to slip out of her own suit, Peter covered his eyes. “ _ You _ asked for  _ my _ help, remember?”

 

“No, I asked for Spider-Man’s help. The guy who defeated New York’s most dangerous criminals.  _ Not _ a lovesick, indecisive, terribly distracted twenty year old. Open your eyes, prude.” Felicia threw gauze at him, and he caught it just before it collided with his face. “Wrap yourself before you ruin my carpet.”

 

He followed her commands. “It’s not like we don’t have another opportunity.”

 

“I wanted it done  _ today _ . Now we have to wait two more weeks. All because  _ you _ \--”

 

“Because I fucked up. I get it.”

 

Felicia’s fists clenched together, and she took heavy deep breaths to calm herself down. “You’ve always been like this,” she said. “Ever since you were seventeen. So distracted all the time. Have you ever just focused on one thing before?”

 

“I have, actually.” And just as he said that, his fingers fumbled and the gauze slipped from his fingers and fell loose around his body. “Okay, that doesn’t count, but--”

 

She stomped forward, kneeling on the ground next to him and taking the wrapping. She continued what he started, except she obviously wasn’t pleased about it. “What even happened, Peter? One minute you were there, and you were dodging, and then all of a sudden, you just stopped.”

 

“I don’t know,” he lied.

 

Truth was, when the van Peter and Felicia had positioned themselves on top of had swung around the corner, he thought he saw Michelle. He only got a quick glimpse, but it still knocked him off balance enough to get shot. He was lethal stuck under Michelle’s heel, he knew.

 

It’s just that-- Peter hadn’t seen her for a while. And that was all his fault; he was childishly hurt by how she had wanted him to go home that he ignored her attempts at getting together. And, just as he realized how stupid he was being, Felicia told him that they needed to do some work.

 

So, he was dangerously deprived. Not of sex, but of her presence. Peter wanted to be with her, clothed or not.

 

“Well, figure it out for next time,” Felicia demanded. She then let out a chuckle. “Remember the first time I did this for you?”

 

“Yeah, I remember. I took the bullet that was meant for you, and then you forced me to reveal my identity.”

 

She tucked the end of the gauze in. “I had to know who had just saved my life. Thank your heroes, and all that. When I found out you were  _ seventeen _ , though--”

 

Peter cut her off. “You were only two years older than I was.”

 

“Well, I just thought you were more experienced, so you would have more time doing your thing. If your voice wasn’t so high, I would’ve thought 24. With the voice, though, 20.” Felicia smirked, and rose just high enough so she could lay down on her bed.

 

“Shut up. It’s not like my age  _ matters _ , all that matters is how skillful I am. And, I’m pretty skillful.” He stood up, as well, and stumbled over to her closet to steal a sweatshirt. “I’m not giving it back, by the way.”

 

It was past midnight when Peter’s back made contact with her comforter. Felicia had muttered, “If you’re sleeping here, you’re taking the floor.” But, he just wanted to rest his eyes for a second. For him to sleep there would mean that he’s, well, stupid. Michelle could’ve walked in at any moment, and--

 

Oh, shit.

 

Michelle and Felicia’s bedroom share a wall.

 

Maybe at first, their voices were hushed, but as the conversation went on it got louder, and louder. Loud enough for Michelle to know every single thing they said.

 

“How thin are your walls?” he asked, paranoid.

 

“Thin enough,” Felicia answered, smugly, and even though he couldn’t see her face, he knew she was grinning from ear to ear.

 

Fear shook Peter to his core. He launched himself off of her bed and leaped towards the door. “Might want to borrow some pants, Spidey,” he heard. “Take these.”

 

Felicia tossed the hot pink sweatpants she was just wearing at his head. Whatever, he didn’t care-- he slipped the pants on, not at all surprised that they fit almost perfectly, and swung the door open.

 

He didn’t have to go far to find Michelle. She was standing right outside in the hall, her eyes puffy and glaring deep into Peter’s soul when he walked into her view. She still had on his shirt-- a detail that might’ve sent him soaring above the clouds, if not for his impending doom.

 

“How long have you known her?” Michelle asked, taking long, anger filled pauses between her words.

 

“W-what do you--”

 

“ _ How long _ ?” 

 

Peter gulped, feeling his deceptions catching up to him. “I-- I haven’t seen her in  _ years _ , not since our s-senior year.”

 

Her eyebrows raised once his words registered. Michelle straightened her back, her arms crossing her chest, her lips parted as she finished her disbelieving gasp. “You’ve known her since high school? She’s two years older than us, Peter. How did you even meet her? Why didn’t you ever mention her?”

 

He couldn’t tell her how they met, he couldn’t tell her why he never mentioned Felicia-- all of it would mean that Peter had to tell her that he was Spider-Man. And, he couldn’t do that. 

 

“We met-- we met at FEAST. Felicia lived there, for a while. And I didn’t think it was that important to tell you.” He was a terrible, terrible liar, and he always had been. Michelle knew all his tells, and he could see it in her face that she still remembered them.

 

“Then why didn’t you tell me when you realized she was my roommate? I mean, unless you’re  _ hiding something _ , then it’s just a fun little coincidence, right?”

 

Peter clenched his jaw. “Felicia and I aren’t involved. Not at all.”

 

“You’ve been sneaking around with her. I know you have! Was she-- was she the girl you were with in high school?” Michelle was pulling nervously on the edges of her sleeves. That was her tell; when she didn’t to be in a certain situation, she’d tug away.

 

“I was never with anyone! Not Felicia, and not anyone else. Just you,” he tried to assure. Peter reached out to hold onto her, but Michelle jumped out of the way.

 

“Don’t touch me,” she cried. “There’s something going on, though. Otherwise you wouldn’t be sneaking around behind my back and--”

 

“It’s not  _ sneaking _ , though. We aren’t together, right?”

 

As soon as the words escaped his lips, Peter regretted them. To Michelle, it was instant confirmation for what she was fearing.

 

He really, really hadn’t learned anything from their first altercation.

 

The anger that previously polluted her eyes changed to disgust. “No,” she agreed, and started pulling her shirt over her head, revealing a nude tank. “We aren’t together. So you can be with Felicia all you want, Parker, and I won’t give one shit.” Michelle shoved the shirt into his chest, her hand lingering. “Because we aren’t together. Not in any way.”

 

And that was it.

 

Michelle didn’t even look back when she walked back to her room.

 

And Peter didn’t even hear her cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this-- isnt-- ok whatever. sorry for the long wait <3


	7. Chapter 7

**MICHELLE**

 

He came around the next day.

 

Peter was there when she came home from work, sitting alone at the kitchen table. His foot bounced at a pace that was superhuman, his head buried in his hands. Michelle was stunned at this unexpected visit; her heart ached as she looked upon him, and she found herself to be frozen underneath the door way.

 

She had spent the better part of the past day wallowing in her own self deprecation. Michelle’s mother had always said that once a cheater, always a cheater-- and Michelle had fooled herself into thinking that Peter would be different. That Peter would see how much she cared for him, even though she didn’t want to admit it herself. That he would follow through on his word when he promised he didn’t want to be with anyone else.

 

And at the very least, Peter could have chosen a  _ different _ girl. He could’ve hooked up with some random woman in a bar and Michelle wouldn’t have cared  _ this _ much. But, it was Felicia. The person he lied about not knowing and the same person he was with in high school. Her  _ roommate _ . It added an extra insult to the injury.

 

Loudly, she dropped her purse to the floor. Peter looked up and stumbled out of the chair when he saw her. His eyes seemed sunken in like he didn’t sleep the night before. He smiled, and it was filled with hope, and it only grew and grew when neither of them moved. “MJ--” Peter spoke, bringing Michelle back from her state of shock.

 

She moved forward, with intentions to just blare past him and lock herself in her room until he left, but Michelle couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Why are you here, Parker?” she asked, taking a step backwards when he moved closer. “You waiting for Felicia?”

 

Peter’s face fell. “N-no. I was waiting for you, MJ. Can I talk to you? No screaming or yelling but an actual conversation?”

 

“Uh…” Michelle’s mouth went dry. God, she was an  _ adult _ . She should’ve been able to have confrontations like these without forgetting how to talk. “I’m a little busy tonight, Peter.”

 

He took another step forward; she took another step backwards. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”

 

Five minutes. Michelle could do five minutes.

 

She nodded timidly. Peter took a huge breath, his chest rising dramatically, but his exhale was interrupted by the pounding of feet walking down the hall. Felicia rounded the corner, wearing her baggy shirt like a dress. “Oh! You’re home. Peter and I were just chilling.”

 

Felicia strutted into the kitchen, making a point to walk around the long way so she could grip Peter’s shoulder. He squirmed when her hand made contact and swatted it away. “Shut  _ up _ , Felicia. We weren’t hanging out! She just let me in, that’s all.”

 

“I let him in, we talked, did something that wasn’t talking. The works.” She stole a Coke from the fridge, quickly opening it and placing it to her lips.   
  


Peter cursed under his breath. “She’s lying, MJ. Can we just--  _ please _ talk privately?”

 

“Am I, though? Imagine if she had walked in an hour ago.”

 

His hands gripped his hair in frustration and he turned around to face her, letting out a groan as he did. “Felicia, shut the hell up,” he screamed. She retorted back, and they started arguing. 

 

Michelle watched, for a moment, as Peter and Felicia forgot she was in the room. They yelled, they shouted, their words vague and confusing to Michelle, but both of them seemed like they  _ knew _ what was going on. It made her corner of the room feel so isolating.

 

She made fast movements, leaping towards her bag and then the door, quickly exiting the way she came in. Michelle didn’t bother with the elevator; she ran down multiple flights of stairs and shoved down whatever emotions she had bubbling inside. Her hours weren’t going to be wasted on crying-- at least not in public.

 

Except, she didn’t have anywhere private to go. Nowhere that wasn’t occupied by Felicia or drenched with memories of Peter.

 

Her mother’s place, although being a viable option, would’ve brought Michelle weeks of judgement she didn’t exactly need. All Michelle needed was a Felicia and Peter free space. And, maybe a set of ears that knew how to listen. And a shoulder to cry on, if Michelle felt like it.

 

She didn’t have a lot of work friends, nor did she stay in touch with anyone from college. She had one option. 

 

Betty and Ned.

 

“I hope you like tea,” Betty said. “We bought, like, a  _ crate _ of tea from this cute little shop in Hawaii during our honeymoon.” She set down two cups on the glass coffee table. Her wedding band glistened, and her skin was still tan from their trip. She looked delightfully happy. “So, what’s up, MJ?”

 

Michelle gave a polite smile, bringing the tea cup to her lips and taking a long sip. She forced herself not to wince; she had always been more of a coffee drinker than anything else. “I-- I know we haven’t really been that close lately. It’s just… I don’t really have that many friends to talk to, and I was just hoping that--”

 

Betty leaned forward. She placed her hand on Michelle’s knee, giving a tight, comforting squeeze. “You can  _ always _ talk to me, about anything, no matter how long it has been. There are still so many things I owe you for, anyways. So, talk on.”

 

Starting at the wedding, Michelle gave as short of an explanation as possible. She phrased it as “me and Peter using each other to get our frustrations out,” like that would change what they were really doing. When she talked about how she started developing  _ feelings  _ again, Michelle suffered through a myriad of sips of tea. As long as it gave her time to compose herself.

 

Then, during the big bomb drop that was Peter and Felicia’s relationship, she was cut off. Betty moved from her own chair so that she was sitting on the couch next to her; her arms held Michelle at the waist. “I am so sorry,” she cried. “You don’t deserve this, MJ.”

 

She wasn’t going to cry. She was sick of crying.

 

“And now I have to go back to that fucking apartment,” she spoke, in nothing more than a whisper. “And see Felicia’s smug face and hear her stupid teasing.”

 

Betty rested her head on her shoulder. “Do you remember that time that our parents went on a work trip, and you were planning on spending the whole week with P-- somebody else, but then my parents refused to leave me alone?” Michelle nodded. “Well, I think it’s time for me to pay you back.”

 

“What? No. No, absolutely not. You and Ned just got married, and--” 

 

“Just for a few days. That will give you enough time to relax a little bit and get away from the Felicia and Peter nonsense. And then you can rationally think about how you will get over this.” She hugged Michelle tightly. “And we can reconnect. Be like we were in high school again.”

 

She didn’t want to say yes. She didn’t want to be a burden on the newlyweds, and she hated pity. But, at the same time, if Michelle had to hear Felicia’s voice or see Peter’s face, she would probably just end up on Betty’s couch once more.

 

“J-just for a few days. As long as Ned is fine with it.”

 

Ned was more than fine with it; he had actually celebrated it. “Our first guest! This is going to be so much fun!” He set up an air mattress and put nice sheets over it, and all the while, he didn’t ask why Michelle needed a place to sleep. She wasn’t going to tell him, either-- Peter was his best friend, after all.

 

The first night, they had stayed up late, catching up on all the things they had missed in each other’s lives. Ned’s sister had a baby. Betty was getting her doctorate. Michelle told them about her job at the Daily Bugle and how she was expecting a promotion soon. None of them mentioned Peter, and Michelle didn’t let herself dwell on him that night.

 

The next day, she felt like she was in the way. Their apartment was small and compact, so she spent most of the evening in a cafe down the street. She wrote her next article and drank coffee after coffee, trying to stay awake and concentrated. Again, Michelle avoided thinking about  _ him _ . (She wasn’t allowing herself to think his name, at that point.)

 

On the third evening, they all had dinner together. Betty had rashly set down her spoon and it emerged into the chili. She winced, but didn’t bother to take it out. “Michelle,” she sighed. “Have you thought about what we talked about?”

 

“A little bit,” she lied.

 

Ned kept his head angled towards his bowl, occasionally shoving spoonfuls into his mouth as he talked. “I think you and Peter should get over it-- You obviously-- love each other, and you’re just using sex as-- a distraction. And I know for a fact-- that Pete has never even thought-- of Felicia in a sexual way.”

 

Michelle tightened her grip around her spoon, her glare fixed on Betty. “You  _ told him _ ?” she scorned through her teeth. 

 

“He’s my husband!” Betty yelled. Her hand held Ned’s bicep in defense. “And he’s right, you know. Right?”

 

She softened. Her shoulders slumped, her hand rifled through her hair. “Yeah, I mean, maybe? But I know what I saw, Ned. I know what I heard.” Michelle  _ did _ interpret those things correctly. Didn’t she?

 

“I don’t think you have the full story,” Ned said. “I mean, you’re a journalist! Use your investigating skills! Your people skills! Ask some questions and don’t leave until you get the hard, cold facts.”

 

Michelle hadn’t thought about it like that before. To detach herself, and to think of this as just another assignment.

 

She wrote up a bunch of questions on her notepad the next morning. They ranged from stupidly simple to overly complex, but all of them burned in her head. She needed answers to questions she had been harboring since high school. 

 

She spent one last night with Ned and Betty. They were both pleased to hear that she would be going home, and even though they promised that it was fun having her around, Michelle knew that they were sick of her. 

 

Still, was she ready to see Peter again? Or Felicia? Not exactly.

 

His apartment was closer than her own, and she decided to just rip the band-aid off. Part of her wished that he wasn’t home, so she could delay this a few more hours, if not days. Michelle practiced her questions under her breath as she climbed up the stairs, nevertheless. Her stomach twisted as she got closer to his door.

 

Surprisingly, she started to think about the first time she said “I love you.” Michelle had been anxious just like this--practicing her delivery, biting at her nails. In the end, however, it was fine. Because it was  _ Peter _ . He had gagged on his own tongue trying to say it back quickly. He was easy to talk to, to laugh with.

 

Her fist made contact with his door. Michelle placed slow, hard knocks, and the door opened within seconds. “MJ,” Peter gasped. “Y-you’re here.”

 

Just by seeing him, her heart jumped. His hair was slicked back with water and he was much more well rested than the last time they had seen each other. He smiled, and muttered, “I’m so glad you’re here,” like he couldn’t believe it.

 

Michelle held herself confidently. “I have a few questions,” she blurted.

 

**PETER**

 

They sat across from each other at his kitchen table. She pulled out  _ flashcards _ \-- literal, actual flashcards, a whole stack of them. “I don’t want to forget anything,” she murmured. 

 

His stomach had been aching since the moment Michelle disappeared that day. When she left, Felicia turned to him and said, “Don’t let anything distract you from your goal, Peter. God, sometimes, you can just be so weak minded.”

 

And without another word, Peter left her apartment. He was tired of everything she had to say, and the only person his mind was concentrating on was Michelle. She looked so hurt. So broken and defeated. That was all his fault.

 

Now, she seemed a bit withdrawn, like her flashcards were shielding her from a real confrontation. “No more lies, okay?” Michelle spoke. “You tell the truth, for once.”

 

_ For once _ . Peter had been lying about a major part of his life since he was fourteen, but the dig still hurt. “Yeah, yeah. The full truth, and nothing but the truth.”

 

“Alright. Where did you meet Felicia?”

 

They had met while she was robbing a bank and Peter--  _ Spider-Man _ was trying to stop her. “That-- that requires a lot of explaining, and--”

 

“Just give me a location, Parker,” Michelle demanded.

 

He wasn’t going to aggravate her, now that she was finally sitting in front of him again. So, defeated, Peter sighed and told her what she wanted to hear. “We met at a bank.”

 

“And that somehow escalated into you…” She paused, closing her eyes and clenching a fist. “Into you sleeping with her?”

 

“No! No, MJ, I  _ never _ slept with her. I never cheated on you. I would  _ never _ .”

 

Michelle set her flashcards down. A fire had ignited within her; she leaned forward, her elbow against the table, her eyes threatening to Peter’s being. “Then what, Peter? What was she to you? Why hide her from me for months if you were just friends?”

 

“That was… so many questions at once,” he deflected, burying his head into his hands and then groaned. This was so…  _ difficult _ . He had never told anyone about his powers, they all just found out by chance. And this wasn’t just  _ anyone _ . This was Michelle.

 

“Just answer them.” Her voice was shaky, like she was on the verge of crying.

 

“I can’t give you a simple answer, MJ. And I know that’s what you want, but there’s a lot I have to explain.” Peter watched as Michelle bit the inside of her cheek, staring him down as she did. He thought about the times they would fight in high school-- about why he had bruises all the time and why he skipped chemistry almost every day, and why it sometimes seemed like he didn’t care about their date nights.

 

All those misconceptions would be washed away. For some reason it scared him; Peter would rather Michelle think he was the worst person on the planet than for her life to be put in danger because of him.

 

“Fine,” she croaked. “Explain.”

 

She wouldn’t believe him if he said he was Spider-Man. So, Peter stood up from the kitchen table and said, “Just wait here a second, okay?” Quicky, he darted down the hall and tore his suit out from his closet. For a moment, he hesitated, considering if there was another option.

 

_ No,  _ he reprimanded himself. The lies had to stop.

 

When he threw the suit onto the table, Michelle gawked. “What the hell is this?” she asked, gingerly running her hands across the fabric. “Okay, so you like to cosplay as Spider-Man. How does that explain anything?”

 

“ _ Cosplay _ \-- MJ, put on the mask.” 

 

Michelle rolled her eyes, but still reached for the mask. “Putting it on,” she sarcastically hummed. It slowly sank over her head, the eyes coming to life, squinting when she did. He could tell when the graphics popped onto the screen, and his AI Karen started to talk. “Holy… holy shit,” Michelle gasped.

 

Peter didn’t know what to say. So, he stood there, waiting for her to come to terms with it.

 

She whipped the mask off and threw it into his chest. Exploding out of her chair, Michelle began to yell, “You’re  _ Spider-Man _ ? Fucking  _ Spider-Man _ ?”

 

“Yeah. That’s why I never told you any of the Felicia stuff, because I met her at a bank that she was trying to  _ rob _ , and I was trying to stop her. And--”

 

“Drop the Felicia shit,” she sneered. She closed the gap between them while still leaving a foot or two, and her face softened as she said, “Why didn’t you ever tell me in the first place, Peter? You were my  _ best friend _ . How could you just keep this a secret?”

 

He carefully placed his hands on her arms, expecting her to shrug them off. However, as if she was frozen, Peter’s hands didn’t move. “You were my best friend, too, MJ. And that’s exactly why I never told you. I was in love with you and was scared you would think of me differently, or that one day my secret would get out and you would be targeted. Ignorance is bliss, right?”

 

Finally, his hands were by his side. Michelle started walking forwards, her finger poking the center of his chest and pushing him backwards. “ _ Ignorance is bliss _ ? For years I thought you cheated on me. For years I hated your guts. And whenever I would think about you, and think about how I missed you, I would in turn hate myself because I thought you didn’t deserve to be missed. So don’t you dare tell me ignorance is bliss, Parker.”

 

His back was against the wall. Michelle was in his face, fuming, her words shattering Peter to his core. He had never thought about that before. He had been selfish.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought I was sparing you. May still thinks I’m going to go out patrolling one day and never come back. I didn’t want that for you.”

 

“I don’t care, Peter. What I wanted was  _ you _ .”

 

They looked into each other’s eyes. Neither of them moved, or blinked, and Peter wasn’t even sure if they were both breathing. “I--” he started, clearing his throat before he continued. “What I said before, and how I  _ was _ in love with you. I still am, MJ. I never stopped.”

 

And with that, Michelle’s lips slammed against his.

 

Her hands ravished his body, taking little time to get started on unbuttoning his shirt. She kissed Peter like she was desperate-- desperate to be loved, desperate to be touched, desperate to be close with him. It was sloppy, and the movements were quick. 

 

She hugged his neck and lifted her body up, saddling her legs around his back. Peter blindly walked forward in an attempt to find a surface to lower her onto, however he was too distracted by Michelle’s fingers running up and down his neck and jaw. It ignited chills throughout his body. And that was just a small touch, a small touch that she had performed hundreds of times before. Peter couldn’t anticipate how the rest of this would go.

 

His knees knocked into the table. Michelle was soon on her back, and very eagerly she took of her shirt. He looked down at her with a smile. A smile that soon turned into a frown.

 

All they did was have sex. Peter didn’t  _ want _ that-- no, he wanted to have sex with her, but he wanted more. He wanted so, so much more.

 

“Why’d you stop?” Michelle whined. She sat up and hungrily placed her lips against his jaw.

 

With his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her off of him. “We shouldn’t have sex.”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

The words tasted funny in his mouth, but still, he stuck with them. “Yeah, yeah, I am. It’s just-- I want whatever we do to mean something. And I don’t really think we’re done talking.”

 

She exhaled, her nails lighting tracing his skin. “I want that, too. And I guess we aren’t.”

 

So, they talked.

 

For hours, they talked. About Spider-Man, and Felicia, and how Michelle didn’t know how long it would take until she could fully trust him again. Peter promised her he would wait as long as possible, and she said, “I know you will.”

 

And as they fell asleep, he found himself thinking that he would wait for her for the rest of his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO, SO, SO sorry that it took me this long to update it. i was really stuck for a long time and ive been super unmotivated to write anything lately BUT i finally did it!!! its not,, the best but i still hope everyone enjoyed it!!! tysm for waiting <3


	8. Chapter 8

**MICHELLE**

 

She smoothed out the wrinkles of her dress, gazing intently into the mirror. This one, just like the ones she had tried on before, didn’t feel right. In particular, this dress hugged her knees but not her curves, creating a pillow-like effect that inflated her image. It was too  _ blue _ . A blue that attacked you for even daring to look at it.

 

Michelle reached for the zipper and swiftly tugged down. She stepped out of it and kicked it into the closet, making a mental note to throw it away later. She took another glance in the mirror and thought  _ fuck it _ . She would just wear her underwear. Peter particularly liked this pair, commenting on how he loved sheer lace on her.

 

That wouldn’t be appropriate, though. Michelle wouldn’t even make it down the street, let alone into a restaurant where she would surely get kicked out. And that isn’t how she wanted their  _ second _ first date to go.

 

Finally, she decided to forget the dress idea. Michelle dug into her closet and pulled out dress pants and a button down, and successfully, felt much better wearing that. She combed her hair quickly before applying a light amount of make-up and putting in the earrings Peter had bought her in high school. He probably wouldn’t notice, but she would know.

 

Michelle was nervous. Her hand shook with every stroke of mascara, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears and overpowered her music. Logically, there was no reason to feel like this. They had been on hundreds of dates before. Dates where she never stammered or cowared, and instead lead all the conversations and advancements of their relationship. She asked him out; she held his hand; she kissed him first. Peter was waiting on her to make every move, something Michelle was more than happy about.

 

However, she didn’t think she could lead their relationship this time. And thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about  _ firsts _ anymore, but it still terrified her. Giving over the reigns was never something Michelle did gracefully.

 

She checked the time; if she didn’t leave now, she would be late. Michelle grabbed her purse and walked out of her bedroom, rushing past Felicia in the kitchen. “I’ve got a date, sorry,” she murmured and swiftly left the apartment.

 

Michelle still had yet to speak to Felicia about anything, really. She was still reeling from the discovery of her supervillain past, unsure of what to think about her roommate’s escapades in a leather catsuit.

 

She saw the hypocrisy in that-- her date was Spider-Man. Peter had kept this from her for years, and she had only known Felicia for a few months. Michelle had come up with a list of reasons why, though. Peter  _ told _ her, even though it took a while, Peter had valid reasons, Felicia used her to get close to Peter, Felicia was a  _ supervillain _ , not a hero. 

 

Michelle didn’t want to just spit it out, though. She had attacked someone with information before and it didn’t work out in her favor, so she was going to think about it, instead of going into the deep end instantly.

 

Right now, though, she was going to focus on her date with Peter. She made her way into the high-class restaurant, feeling ashamed at the state of her outfit as she walked up to the hostess. “Uh… the reservation should be under Parker,” Michelle croaked.

 

The hostess smiled at her, her face lighting up. “Follow me, Mrs. Parker,” she ordered, stepping out from behind the stand and walking deep into the restaurant.

 

Michelle followed at her heels.  _ Mrs. Parker _ . It made her swallow her tongue in shock.

 

Maybe this date was a bad idea. She could still back out. Her time to do so was closing, though, getting smaller, constricting her air movement as they etched towards their table. She spotted the back of Peter’s head first, not that that helped at all-- in fact, it might’ve made her fears grow.

 

“This is your table,” the hostess grinned. She pulled the chair out for Michelle and said, “Have a great dinner, you two.”

 

“We will,” Peter thanked. He was still facing away from her, but she could tell he had a huge grin on. When the hostess walked away, Peter stood up from his seat and turned around.

 

And her anxiety melted away.

 

He was able to do that, with just a look. His bright, excited face with the widest smile you could ever see-- it made Michelle calm. Peter took a step forward and snaked his arms around her, pulling her into a hug, air finally rewarding her lungs as he did. “Hey, MJ,” he spoke. “I kinda thought you weren’t going to show.”

 

“I’m on  _ time _ ,” Michelle laughed into his ear. Her hands lingered around his neck and he pulled back to look at her.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve just never been early before.”

 

She rolled her eyes, her hands leaving his body as she went to her chair, and sat down. Peter did the same. “The hostess,” she started, sounding like she had heard something audacious, “thought I was your wife. Isn’t that crazy?”

 

“I-Insane. Totally.” He opened his menu, and it shielded his face. “I ordered you a beer. I hope you don’t mind. I just got here and got thirsty and he asked if I wanted to wait until you got here and--”

 

He was just as nervous as she was.

 

Very slightly, the corners of her mouth turned upwards. Peter glanced up from his menu and gulped, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“No reason. You just… look cute. In that suit.” Michelle’s eyes darted all over him, analyzing how his posture straightened and his cheeks reddened. She laid her hand out on the table, palm up, as an invitation for him to take it. Thankfully, he did.

 

She almost said no to this date. She had told Peter that she wanted so desperately to trust him, but that she didn’t know what to think anymore. He had combated with, “No more secrets, MJ. I’m not losing you again,” and that made her too weak in the knees to say no.

 

As the night went on, Michelle was glad she said yes. Peter remembered her usual order, a small detail that pleased her, and let her steal bits of food off of his plate. They never ran out of things to talk about either; they settled back into their old groove very quickly.

 

But, after they had ordered dessert, he asked something that had been burning in his head the whole time. “What did you mean by  _ crazy _ ? When the hostess thought you were my wife?”

 

Michelle gaped at him. “Uh… well, she called me  _ Mrs. Parker _ . We all know I would keep my last name, or at the very least, hyphenate it.” 

 

“Yeah, I guess we do. But is that really what you meant?” he continued to press. He leaned over in his seat to hear her better, staring at her so intensely, as if her stupid comment meant something to him.

 

“I-- No, no, it’s not. We’re young, Peter. Not old enough for marriage. And this is our first date in four years. We are  _ far _ from marriage.” Michelle brough her drink up to her lips, words piling and forcing her way out as she did. “I mean, if that day ever comes.”

 

Peter’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. So-- so are you saying  _ you _ never want to get married, or  _ you _ never want to marry  _ me _ ?”

 

“I never said that!” She slammed her beer back onto the table. “Yes, I want to get married one day. With the right guy. And--” 

 

“And he isn’t me?”

 

Michelle choked down her words, her frustrations bubbling. “This is our first date in four years, Peter. You can’t expect me to be open to  _ marriage _ right now.”

 

“I’m not expecting it!” he swore. “It’s just… I want to marry you. One day. In the far, far future but-- but, still.” Somehow, he was holding her hand.

 

“You do?” Peter nodded, timidly. “Well, I don’t get married on the first date. Ask me on the next one.”

 

“Will do, Ms. Jones.”

 

They ate their dessert while exchanging shy glances. He was her first love, her only love-- she had imagined what it would be like to marry him before. Maybe she even expected it, when she was in high school. Michelle had thought things changed, though.

 

But maybe things remained, mainly, the same.

 

She was still in love with him, and he was still in love with her. Ned and Betty were still together and, although married, didn’t act any different than they did five years ago. Peter still had that young face, and those puppy dog eyes, and such a hopeful outlook. He was still kind and protective, unashamed to express his fierce feelings.

 

Michelle’s cheeks blushed, and she shoved a spoonful of cheesecake into her mouth. Things could go back to how they were, if she really wanted it to.

 

After they split the tab, their fingers interlaced and Peter led her out of the restaurant. He held onto her hand tightly, his palm clammy. Once they exited, they stood in front of the sidewalk, standing toe to toe. “You have been nervous all night,” Michelle rolled her eyes, acting as if she didn’t feel the same. “What’s going on, Parker?”

 

Peter grabbed onto her other hand. “You’re-- you’re not mad at me, right? For hiding it from you all these years?”

 

“I already said that I wasn’t.” Her thumb rubbed his skin back and forth. “I think you  _ should’ve _ told me, and we wouldn’t have lost all that time we could’ve had together… But, I understand. You thought you were protecting me. So, no, I’m not mad. As long as you’re done lying about it.”

 

“For sure! Definitely. I’ll tell you everything. Promise.”

 

“You already promised that, Peter.”

 

Smugly, he shrugged. “It had to be reiterated.”

 

Michelle exhaled, her hands tingling at his touch and the rest of her desperate to be felt by him. Rashly, she pressed her lips against his, feeling complete once she did. Peter dropped her hands and brought his own up to cup her face as his breath caught in shock. 

 

Someone trying to get into the restaurant bumped into Peter’s shoulder, making him stumble backwards and rip their lips apart. “S-sorry,” he stuttered, wiping saliva off of his mouth. He turned back to Michelle and said, “Uh, do you want a ride home?”

 

“You don’t have a car,” she chuckled, still feeling Peter’s lips on her own.

 

“I meant--” his two inner fingers touched his palms, and he made indistinguishable sounds with his mouth. “A  _ ride _ home.”

 

He was ridiculous. It brought a smile to her face. “Why not?” Michelle answered.

 

They found a back alley to disappear into. She stood watch while Peter stripped of his suit, and underneath it was his Spider-Man suit. She caught a glimpse of him pulling the mask over his head, checked around the corner once more, and then walked next to him.

 

Michelle followed his directions. She jumped onto his back and hugged him tightly, despite him saying, “I’m sticky so nothing should happen, but still, just do it.” He checked to make sure she was comfortable, and once he was certain, they took off.

 

It was like they were flying. Michelle had her eyes sealed tight for the majority of the time, not realising how scared she was until the moment they left the ground. Her hair blew into her face and all the noises the city produced were almost obsolete. She got comfortable enough to open her eyes, and she couldn’t stop smiling when she did.

 

Her boyfriend was Spider-Man. It was pretty fucking cool.

 

Peter dropped her off in front of her building and told her to open up her window when she got up to her apartment. “You get to do that every day?” she wondered as he crawled through.

 

“It gets boring after a while,” Peter sighed, wiping his mask off and pressing the endlum on his chest. The suit released its hold on his body and fell to the floor, showing him in nothing but his checkered boxers.

 

“You’re joking, right? That was  _ amazing _ . How can you ever get sick of that?” Michelle was unphased by his sudden lack of clothes, backing into the kitchen to grab herself some water.

 

“ _ Obviously _ ,” he stressed, following behind her. “It’s the best thing in the world. Besides being with you, of course.”

 

She shook her head, and took a sip of her water. She offered a drink to Peter, who accepted. “I had a good time,” Michelle said. “Thank you, Peter.”

 

He set the glass down, opening his mouth, but it rested unevenly and fell over. The contents spilled onto a black fabric on the counter, a note splayed on top if it. Peter picked it up, commenting, “It’s Felicia’s suit.” He opened the letter and began to read. “‘ _ Gone to France, won’t be back. My number is on the bottom in case of emergencies, but I don’t expect you to use it. I’m sorry, MJ. Hope you can put the suit to use. _ ’ Uh, and then there’s a winky face at the end.”

 

“Did you know she was leaving?” Michelle asked. A weird, empty feeling filled in her stomach; they were never close, probably never would be, but she never even got the chance.

 

“Not really. I mean, that was the plan. Get whatever she needed gone and then she would leave. I just… didn’t expect she meant instantly.” His forehead creased, and he looked down at the suit with painful eyes.

 

“You gonna miss her?”

 

His head darted back up to stare back at her. “MJ--”

 

“It’s okay to miss a friend, Peter. Or whatever she was to you. I won’t be upset.”

 

“I mean, I hated her guts. For a long, long time. But I guess that was just part of her charm. And I really liked fighting with her.” He paused, momentarily, his arms crossing over his stomach, ashamed of how nude he was. “Maybe I will.”

 

Michelle outstretched her arms and grabbed ahold of his elbows, and pulled him close to her. She placed his hands on her waist and her own went to his shoulders. “Well, I’m sorry you lost her, then. Maybe in another four years she’ll make another surprise appearance just to mess with you.”

 

“I bet she will,” Peter said, giving her a half-assed grin.

 

“In another four years,” she started, “where do you plan to be?”

 

He perked up, and she knew whatever would come next was a joke. “Well… head of Stark Industries. Billionaire. Maybe in Alaska. Doesn’t that sound fun? Where do  _ you  _ plan to be, MJ?”

 

“Shut up, Parker,” she pushed his shoulder lightly. “I-- I think I plan to be right here. With you.”

 

“You think?”

 

“Yeah. I think so.”

 

Peter pulled her in for a hug; deliberately tight, his warm energy feeding into her body. She held him back, resting her shoulder on his head. “I love you, MJ,” he whispered.

 

And she said it back. And throughout the rest of the night, they traded “I love you’s” and adoring stares. And, truly, for the first time in four years, everything felt normal again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally! i finished this story. tysm for everyone who supported it i hope you support me in the future too!!


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